Reflections from Shipboard
by MissMary
Summary: Short stories from the Prometheus universe.Sam is on the ship heading back to Earth with the supervisors who knew him in prior lives, when he could not talk; they all have questions. Stories are independent and can be read separate from Prometheus.
1. Scrapper

These are a series of short stories in the world of Prometheus, where Sam is on board the ship with many of the better supervisors he once had. As he is now able to talk to them, they are taking the opportunity to either reflect on how Sam is different from the slave they knew, or ask questions they could not before as he could not speak. Each story will be independent.

Anyone who has ideas, please feel free to make suggestions in reviews or PMs. Reviews are always welcome.

Reflections from Shipboard

Scrapper came in with the medicines and a nutrition drink for Sam and found him asleep. Razorclaw found that keeping the chains on the retaken human left reddened areas on Sam's wrists and ankles. When the areas became marks and fluid came out of them despite the padding, the breeder took Sam out of the cage, left him with Shrapnel, went over the cage with minute care, and removed the chains. When he did so, he moved the cage to the recreation room; it was rare for the room to be empty. Most the crew knew Sam in one of his former lives, and the rest knew to contact one of them if they thought Sam needed something.

The few crew members who did not know Sam before this trip normally did not deal with humans at all except to avoid stepping on them when they were on Earth. This human was the Master's pet and rumored to hold part of the All-Spark. Worse, even they could see that to live, he would need careful handling and care. They played it safe and left him to the ones who knew him.

Scrapper opened the cage and stroked Sam's white hair. Sam opened his eyes at the touch, and Scrapper saw that he was not asleep, but still in an effort to deal with pain. "Time for your medicine," the labor supervisor said. Sam nodded and started to push himself up, moving with visible effort. Scrapper held out a finger, and Sam used it for support. It was a habit they once had when Scrapper and his crew had first found him, when he was Noisy. "I need to void," the retaken human said in his mechanical voice. Scrapper moved with him to the waste disposal. When Sam was finished and had wiped his hands with the cleaning solvent, Scrapper gave him the package with the medicines and a canned drink. Dead End set up the medicines and meals for the human according to the instructions from the infirmary. Scrapper remembered how shocked all of them were that the medic tending the holder of the All-Spark was a human.

Dead End's response to that was amusement. "I heard Ratchet say she was better with humans that he would ever be, with my own audio sensors. He said that no one else would have saved Sam." Everyone on the ship sent up a private thanks to Primus for saving their lives.

Scrapper arrived on Earth with one of the last waves. He was in the fight with the Fallen, but his unit faced off with the Autobots and the Psyches, with almost no humans in that mix. He knew that others faced humans, and that they came off the worst, but he also heard that it was the force of numbers that defeated them- there were that many humans with Autobot supplied weapons that lead to that defeat.

Now, having exposure to the colonies, Scrapper knew that that version of history was so much scrap. There were two generals and one leader in that fight on the Alliance side. One of the generals was Rodimus Prime, but the other was a human by the name of Abigail Lennox, who kept Lord Megatron at bay while the Psyches, under their leader, and Rodimus Prime dealt with the Fallen. When the Fallen went down and the Sun Destroyer became so much scrap metal, Megatron retreated. The Decepticons could not stand against the Alliance without the Fallen and the energon the Sun Destroyer would have produced. The hatchlings on the Fallen's base died. Scrapper found out later that the Autobots never knew they existed.

Scrapper held out his hand, palm flat, in silent invitation, and Sam climbed in slowly.

Some protocols began almost as soon as all of them began interacting with Sam. Scrapper remembered all of the former supervisors appeared in the recreation room after Razorclaw moved the cage there and all of them called him by a different name. Sam held up his hands. "Please," he said, and even though his voice was mechanical, the weariness came through. "Lord Megatron calls me Sam." There was a silence, but the Master's pet knew his Decepticons. Invoking the Master meant that whatever name they knew him by before, the white haired human was called Sam now by all of them. Otherwise the argument/fights would have started.

Razorclaw helped Sam undress to show the extent of his injuries. They saw the huge bruises on his torso, his legs, and back. Scrapper had seen more deep bruises in humans than the others, and he knew that such dark colors on the torso mean internal injuries. "What are the little lines?" he asked. Sam explained stitches. Silence followed, all of them amazed the human survived at all and all of them aware that if they were to deliver Sam to the Master alive, he was going to need careful care. Sam pulled his clothes back on, moving slowly, and they could all see that he was in pain.

Most of them wished that Cykill was there now, so they could kill him.

"I thought you were leaving the infirmary," Dead End said. "Where were you going?' Sam explained that he was going to the same place the newborns and small children were cared for. "The most protected area of the colony," the pretender noted. "It would have been impossible to take you there." They all nodded, understanding that he was being moved to an area safer than the infirmary, which was well protected. Dead End said they were lucky, and now Scrapper believed him. Razorclaw put Sam back in the cage to rest.

So the guidelines were laid down. They were not to pick Sam up, but let him move into a flattened hand. Each one was responsible for Sam for a certain time period, which included making sure he had meals and medications on time. If they were to remove him from the cage, they were directly responsible for his safety. If he was not in sight and not in the cage, he was to be restrained.

But Scrapper seldom put him in the restraints. He preferred to either keep Sam under his direct eye or leave him in the cage. Sam was content to sit in his hands while he swallowed the pills and the drink that went with them. Scrapper compared Sam to Noisy, and saw small differences. Noisy had been thin, with his muscles flat on his frame. There had been no spare fat on him, despite the extra food he gathered while Scrapper looked the other way. Sam was not as thin, and his muscles were not nearly as developed. But the brooding look, that was quite familiar. Back then, it would be no good to ask what Noisy was thinking. Now, however…

"Sam, how many lives did you have before the one with me?" he asked. Sam looked at him, considering. "We all tried to manage a timeline, but sometimes things got confusing. "

"You were my sixth life," Sam said in his mechanical voice. "The first ended when I died in Optimus Prime's hand, when I was sixteen. No one knew then that I died, they just thought I had been missed in the search for the living. The second time I died with my wife, fighting in the resistance." He had to explain marriage. "Then I was in the mines." Scrapper saw a look on his face that Noisy never had, but that he had seen on other humans-hate. "Then I was with Shrapnel and Razorclaw. The fifth was building work."

"The one that works with Hook? Watts? "Sam nodded. They were both quiet for a time. Sam shifted a little, still uncomfortable. It would take a while before the medicines began to work. Sam shivered. Scrapper pulled a blanket out of the pen for him. The padding helped. "I remember that Baldy thought you were dead when he found you. Scared the wits out of him."

"You found me before I woke up from that reboot," Sam reflected. "Normally I had some time free before I was found. " They were both quiet, Sam settling into the warmth of the blanket and Scrapper's hands, and Scrapper remembering the time when he first saw Noisy.

They were ahead of schedule, and Scrapper wanted to stay that way. The sounds someone crashing through the foliage to him was a sign that there was a problem. He looked down to see one of his newer crew members coming through the foliage. Scrapper could see Baldy's distress before he took the submission pose all slaves used before imparting bad news. "Master, we found a dead slave."

That was unusual and merited attention. "Show me where," Scrapper said, resigned. Relief at not being punished for bringing bad news swept over Baldy's face. He had not yet figured out that Scrapper only punished when the slave was at fault, not circumstance. He led the way to his find, hurrying as his master strolled. Scrapper saw the still form before Baldy did. "Go on with your work," he told the nervous slave. Baldy nodded and went to get his tools, avoiding the young male on the ground as he did so.

Scrapper squatted to examine the human before him. He saw a young male, with no uniform, no collar, and no marks except a healed white scar on his throat. He was young but looked fully grown. There was little muscle development. He was a pale white all over, including white hair on his head and here and there on the body. He turned the boy over to see if there were marks on his back. The skin was softer than the sun-toughened ones of his crew members.

To his surprise, the youngling opened his eyes on the movement. He pushed to a sitting position, his back was to Scrapper. Rubbing his eyes, he took in his surroundings. When he saw Scrapper, he scrambled to his feet. Scrapper promptly put his hands around the boy, closing him in. "You," he informed the struggling figure, "are remarkably lively for a corpse." The youngling stopped struggling, looking down. "Look at me, little one." Frightened hazel eyes looked up to meet curious red optics. "So you can hear, and you understand me." The youngling nodded. Scrapper gave him an admonishing smack with a finger, enough to sting but not harm. "Speak respectfully."

Wetness appeared in the eyes. The boy raised a trembling hand to his throat and shook his head. Scrapper frowned and touched the boy's chin, making him tilt his head back. "You can't talk." The boy nodded. "I see." Scrapper considered the boy in his hands, who looked down again and swiped at his eyes. Considering the youngling's behavior, there were several possibilities. One was that the youngling was simply abandoned by someone who got tired of dealing with a flawed slave. Another was that the poor child was trained and used for something illegal, before having his speech mechanism damaged and being abandoned. He could be a youngling that somehow escaped before getting a collar. No, Scrapper thought, because younglings are raised in farms, and at the farm his skin would have toughened and gone the darker colors.

"Well, you're a puzzle. What should I do with you?" The boy said nothing, of course. "I suppose the first order of business is to get you dressed." He kept extras of the uniforms his crew wore, as accidents happened out in the field. He stood and said, "Come along," when the boy bolted into the thickest cover of underbrush.

Shouts broke out, and then calls for the master. If Scrapper was alone, the youngling might have escaped. Fortunately for the supervisor if not the youngling, he went straight to where the crew was working. While the crew might not have any idea what was going on, they did know that a naked boy running in the woods was trouble. Scrapper came to the area his men were clearing to find that Scarface and Gimpy had wrestled the boy to the ground and were holding him easily. "Very good," Scrapper told the two crew members, and took the boy from them. "Back to work, you can gawk at him after the light goes."

He administered a mild switching and promised the boy much worse if he tried escaping again. The boy's body writhed under the punishment, but he made no sound, confirming that the boy was indeed mute and not just stubborn. Done, the supervisor provided a set of field clothes and sandals and watched as the boy put them on. Until the normal work break, he carried the boy. On break, he left the boy with the crew with strict instructions to keep him with them but otherwise leave him alone, and went to create a harness.

He came back to find the crew trying to get information with yes and no questions. So far they found out that the boy was alone, and that was it. There was a lot of shrugging. "Did you give him some of the water?" Scrapper asked as he came up.

"Yes, Master," Gimpy said, "and took him to void, too, Scar and me together."

"Good." He produced the harness. The boy tried to bolt, but Gimpy saw that coming and grabbed him. "Primus, he's a wild one."

"Can't be too wild if he knows talk even if he can't talk himself," Scarface noted.

"Think he got dumped?"

"I think you better get back to work," Scrapper told them sourly. "We'll discuss the matter when the light's gone." The crew went back to work. The harness was an improvement on carrying the boy, though not by much. The supervisor did take the time to contact his work center by com to report finding the boy; they told him there was a patrol coming by that could take his report, and otherwise keep hold of him. "You are a problem," he informed the boy, who was poking at some rocks.

The boy mimed getting out of harness and pointed to the woods. "Nice try," he responded, amused by the boy's offered solution to his problem. "You'd either die on your own, get killed by a patrol for target practice, or wind up going through this mess again with someone else." He shook his head. "No, you'll get taken to a farm and get some proper training soon enough. Though I'd like to know where you got that scar."

That night, the boy surprised all of them. Scrapper tied the harness to a tree in the middle of the camp. The men started setting up camp. The boy watched for a time, before starting some activities on his own. He gathered a mound of some soft vegetation first, loading it in a hollow between tree roots. Having completed this to his satisfaction, he made another pile, but this time it was various sizes of wood. By this time Scrapper was ignoring the rest of the crew to watch him, intrigued. The boy produced the rocks he had been playing with earlier. One rock was a kind that was all over the place, a flat, glassy looking one. The other was a kind of ancient metal, mostly rusted but with some of the metal still shiny silver. He did something with the two rocks, before messing with the wood. The smell brought Scrapper over. The boy had a small flame that he was patiently building into a small fire.

"Master, we're finished." Gimpy said, coming over. "Hey, is that a fire? Can we heat the food tonight, then?" Scrapper nodded and produced the food packets, including one for the boy. "Noisy thing, isn't he?" he commented on the boy, as they gathered around the fire. He also found an extra blanket, though he did not have a sleeping pad for him. It turned out that the boy intended to use the vegetation he gathered as a pad. Scrapper found the tree a perfectly good backrest. He took the harness off the boy after he sat next to the pile the boy settled on. He kept a light hand over the boy, who eventually went to sleep. In his sleep, the boy nestled against his hand, seeking the warmth the supervisor radiated when the night got cold.

By the end of the second day, everyone was calling the boy Noisy. They were going through the woods, with trees that had round objects on them. Occasionally Scrapper found Noisy digging at something. By the end of the day, he saw that Noisy's shirt was tucked into his pants and was bulging in places. When he tied Noisy to the tree, the boy pulled out several plants and the round objects from one of the trees before he made up his vegetation mat. Scrapper wondered at it, but was distracted when one of the crew yelled something about a snake. He went over to see Baldy and a few others retreating from a fair sized snake, which he dispatched. By the time he had disposed of the remains, there was no sign of the little pile Noisy had gathered. It took Scrapper about a week to figure out that what Noisy gathered he ate. The crew did not report it because Noisy was sharing.

Noisy figured out how to get out of the harness once during the day while Scrapper was distracted, which earned him a harder switching. The second time, the crew caught him. Their punishment was to bind him hand and foot until Scrapper returned from making his com report. The patrol appeared about the tenth day he had Noisy. By that time they had worked out some simple signs.

The patrol talked to Scrapper and looked the boy over. "None of that makes sense," the patrol leader said, baffled. "No marks, skin white all over, no collar, only the scar at the throat. Can't talk, but hears, and can understand language. How quick is he?"

"Picks up almost everything the first time you tell him," Scrapper said. "He knew how to start a fire from some stones he picked up, knew how to make himself a soft place to sleep out of vegetation, knows what kinds of plants they can eat without getting sick." He refrained from mentioning that once Noisy had tried to cook a grey tree animal he caught and killed by twisting its neck. The crew took care of that matter without his needing to intervene. The idea of a human eating something that used to live did not sit well with him any more than it did with his crew.

"Feral?" the leader asked, interested. "Think he might be from a group that threw him out for some reason?"

"Why are you asking me?" Scrapper snapped. "I just found him." He glanced at Noisy, who was holding the submission pose while the masters chattered in Cybertronian around him. The crew had hammered into Noisy that doing anything else would embarrass Scrapper and earn Noisy a beating.

They tried to question Noisy, and only got frustrated. Fortunately for Noisy, the leader thought most humans were pretty much too stupid to live without constant supervision anyway, and he did not hurt Noisy when he got frustrated. "We'll do a search," the patrol leader decided, "just in case. Otherwise, we'll just process him as an abandoned slave who was found. Oh, I do have a collar." He produced the steel band with the electronics built in. Scrapper took it.

"What about getting him to a farm? He's too young for this kind of dangerous work," Scrapper said.

"We can't," the patrol leader said. "If you want him off your hands, though, we're going past the mines after we do our search. They can always use workers. "

"In that case, I'll keep him," Scrapper said. This might be dangerous work, but the boy was far better off with him than at the mines. A pain in the aft Noisy might be, but by this time, he was their pain in the aft.

Soon after, they were gone. Scrapper took the collar and stooped, pulling Noisy to him with the harness. He attached the collar. Noisy didn't struggle. When it was on, he took the harness off. "From now on, any one of us can track you through this," he said. "If you try to leave, you'll get this," and he shocked Noisy. "You've never seen me do that to my crew, and I won't to you either, as long as you behave." He stood. "Come along. It's about time we started training you."

That night he told the crew that Noisy would be with them permanently. "But master, he's too young, shouldn't he go to a farm?" Gimpy asked.

"It's here or the mines," Scrapper said. "He's flawed, so he won't be bred." The crew traded looks. "One other thing," he added. "He is too young for breeding. Understood?"

The crew members, with the exception of Noisy, squirmed. All of them used each other for sex. Some were established partners, and some went from partner to partner. Most of them had eyed Noisy at one time or another, but as Noisy slept near the master, they had not tried anything. "Yes, master," they chorused.

But Scrapper did not object when Noisy continued to bed down near him, until he toughened up and felt confident he could beat off anyone who tried to bother him. Scrapper continued to keep an eye out.

"I raised you to be one of my best workers," Scrapper said out loud, though he thought Sam was sleeping. He knew even at the time that he was unreasonably attached to his silent slave. How could anyone have known that a slave could hold the All-Spark? Or was that only part of the reason?

"You were a good master," Sam responded and yawned. "Do you know why your slaves were so loyal to you?" Scrapper shook his head. "You let them have a sense of family, of belonging to something."

Scrapper shrugged. "Giving good work conditions means they do good work and make me look good," he said indifferently. Sam hummed something drowsily in agreement. Scrapper moved to sit where he could see the screen showing space and told him about other systems he had seen. Sam listened, asking the occasional question, until he was able to go to sleep.

He was sure that Sam knew his reason for treating his crew well. When he had a crew he knew he could work well with, he felt that he belonged to something, too, and the most content he had ever been was working with Noisy in his crew.

He had protected the All-Spark. That was indeed something to feel good about.


	2. Razorclaw

In Prometheus, I cut back the story of Mute in chapter 6 by a third, because the length was too much for the flow of the rest of the story. Nessus asked if I could place that story here. This is the missing part, between when Razorclaw introduces Mute to Red, his favorite slave, and when he returns to the breeding pens. I tried not to repeat too much of the chapter in Prometheus.

However, part of the reason I cut this section was the MATURE CONTENT! If that bothers you, skip this story. You have been warned.

Razorclaw

Some time had passed. Razorclaw examined Sam and was pleased to see he was healing. The bruises were not quite as dark and the lines were red but not as swollen as before. Sam was moving somewhat more easily, but he was not fully healed by any means, and Razorclaw was still feeding him the full amount of pain medications, though he was adding some slave rations to the colony food.

It had been a boring day, and Sam was on the latest dose of his pain medicines, so Razorclaw asked, "Mute?"

"Mute died," Sam said, as he always did when called by a prior name. He was lying curled on Razorclaw's lap, the metal padded by a blanket. Razorclaw reflected that Sam spent more time on some part of a master's anatomy than he did in his cage.

"When you were Mute," Razorclaw corrected patiently, and Sam nodded, "None of your females caught the first time. Was that deliberate?" Sam tensed despite the drug. "It's a little late for me to punish you for that now," the breeder pointed out. "I just want to know." He stroked Sam's hair lightly.

Sam sighed. "Yes," he admitted. "I was surprised when none of them caught; the method wasn't that good, just better than nothing. What happened to Red, in the end?"

This time Razorclaw vented air. "She died in childbirth, the child with her. She wanted another baby, after she lost the one she had with you. "They were quiet, sharing a moment of sadness. "Did you put the poison in the water?"

"God in Heaven and Primus in the Matrix, no! " Sam twisted to look up at the breeder and grimaced in pain. Razorclaw helped him sit up. "I thought it was some kind of illness?" Razorclaw explained about the wood alcohol. "Well, if I had to choose a way to die, I'll take that one, but I wouldn't take the girls or the babies with me." He sagged back against the breeder, breathing harshly. The sudden movement must have hurt him, Razorclaw mused.

"You were the only death," Razorclaw mused. "The girls lived, even though all of them lost the babies. Six of them were yours," he mourned. "All that effort to get children from you and then I lost you _and_ the offspring." He snorted. "And you should have heard Shrapnel when he found out. Whine, whine, whine, about how he couldn't find a slave as good as you were with either the cleaning or the still. Of course, he was right about that, considering that one of them blew the damned thing up and the fire almost got to the rest of the farm."

Moving like that was not the wisest thing I ever did, Sam thought as he tried to deal with the pain. Razorclaw placed a hand lightly over Sam to brace him, and the warmth of the metal helped. Sam relaxed a little, remembering how even in his computer files, he had censored part of that part of his life. They both thought about Red and the time when Razorclaw put Mute with his favorite slave.

Razorclaw summoned Mute from the supply room where he worked. It was late in the afternoon, but not yet time for the evening meal. In the office the slave stopped in front of the desk, eyes down. "Around here," the breeder said, and motioned Mute to his chair. There was a cup on the desk that Sam estimated held about a pint, and Razorclaw handed it to him. "Drink that, you're going to miss your evening refuel." Certain now that he was about to be shipped off to the mines for not producing offspring, Sam took a cautious sip before starting to drink. It was some kind of pureed soup, thick, warm and good. Sam savored it; so little food they got had any taste at all.

Halfway through, he realized he was feeling odd, and stopped to look up at the Cybertronian watching him. Razorclaw turned him around, took the cup and put it on the desk, pulled Sam into his lap, and put the cup back in his hand. "Finish up, now," he coaxed, and Sam obeyed. When he finished the last swallow, he lowered the cup and almost dropped it. He knew he was slumped back against the master. In the back of his head, he knew something was wrong, but he could not bring himself to care. "Good boy," the breeder crooned, "looks like you're nice and relaxed. Come along." He stood Mute up and guided him through a door on the other side of the office.

Some time later, Mute came out of his drugged haze because something went around his stomach. He could not sit up. Then he heard the noise that sounded vaguely familiar, and frightening, and a cold weight went around his ankles and wrists. He tried to look at them, and found that that both his arms and legs were chained. That jolted him further into reality. He was lying on something soft. He was naked except for his restraints. He tried to remember what was going on. He remembered being told to void, and complying. He remembered being undressed and guided into a warm shower, and getting soap. He remembered he was somewhat unsteady, so he sat down to scrub and wash his hair. When told to rinse off, he had, though he did not want to leave the warm spray. Then he was picked up and dried while being carried here and laid down.

Now that his mind was clearing somewhat, Mute tried to figure out what was going on. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. He was on some kind of table, he thought, but he could not see more than that and fell back. He tested the length of his chains, and they clanked. That brought some harsh memories, and cleared his head a little further.

"Don't you look good," a feminine voice purred. He turned his head. Then he pushed up onto his elbows and stared. He wondered if he was hallucinating, because she was something out of his early teenaged fantasies, before he met Mikaela. The woman standing over him was any man's vision of heaven. She had curly red hair that cascaded down to her hips. She had lovely large green eyes, set in an angelic face of pale white skin, a tiny perfect nose and a smile full of small white teeth. She had a slightly rounded face, and an adorable pointed chin. She wore a robe that hung open. Her only resemblance to Mikaela was her body shape, which was rounded and pleasing. He estimated that she was about his height. He lifted his eyes back to her face to see she was giving him the same pleased assessment that he had given her.

She went to her knees beside him and reached up to stroke his hair. "Your hair is like mine," she said. He looked at her hair and gave her raised eyebrows. She laughed again. "It's different that the others," she elaborated. He nodded. She pushed down his collar and looked at the scar underneath it. He let his head fall back, and then lay back because that position made his head swim. "Is that an invitation?" she said, but he noted a chill in her voice. He held up his wrists and shook the chains, and looked at her arms pointedly, thinking that she was the one that was unbound.

"I know you're trying to tell me something. I can't take off the chains. I need them." He gave her a questioning look. "A long time ago, three men held me down and took turns." She noted his outraged look. "My master stopped them. Their punishment was this." She indicated the chains. "He let me do whatever I wanted to them. After that, I've needed this."

She smiled at the look on his face. "I don't need hurt, Mute." She brushed her fingers over the scar on his neck. "It's another way we're the same. We've both been hurt where it doesn't show." She trailed a finger down his muscled chest, past the tight stomach, and further. His body responded to her light touches. She drew closer. "The other females say you're different," she murmured, moving her hand to his knee and tracing it upward on the muscles flat against his body. "They say you like to play, that you know how to make them feel good."

He nodded, cautiously. "So I'm going to play, "she said, sliding to lie on her side against him. He raised his arm to run his hand over her back, moving slowly. She jumped a little, and he lifted his hand. "Go ahead," she murmured against his ear, and her hands resumed their feather-light stroking.

In the many encounters he had at the breeding facility, he was always in control, no matter how experienced the females were. This time, she was in control of the entire experience, and she made sure he knew that. He nuzzled or stroked when he could, but backed off if she said or he thought her body language did. Towards the end he was pressing against her in helpless, mute appeal. If he could have talked, he would have begged, and she laughed, ready herself, before getting on top of him.

It took all the control he had learned in all his lifetimes to hold back. She knew what she was after and she got it more than once before she finally stopped, sweaty and breathless and panting. She laughed into his chest. He relaxed, and began to pull back. She moved against him experimentally. "Oh, no," she said, "you're not finished yet," and she started moving again, slowly, taking her time.

His control abandoned him. Mindless with need and pleasure, he moved with her, and exploded. He gulped air as she moved a little more, experimenting. "There you go," she said, as she disengaged and lay over him. He nuzzled her hair and stroked her arms lightly, as far as he could reach. She made a happy satisfied sound into his neck. They went to sleep curled together.

The feel of a metal finger stroking her back woke her. She looked up at Razorclaw, and carefully moved away from her sleeping lover. Putting on her robe, she watched her master undo the locks. Mute did not move, and she giggled behind her hands. "Wore him out, did you," the breeder said fondly. At the sound of the master's voice, Mute woke, jolting upright and almost falling over. Razorclaw steadied him before handing him his clothes. Mute dressed and stood up. The breeder picked both of them up and took Mute to the kitchen, telling him to get to his sleeping pad. Mute nodded and headed off.

Back in his office, Razorclaw set her on his desk and said, "I think you enjoyed yourself, sweet. Did he mind?" She shook her head, smiling. "Do you think you found the problem?"

She laughed into her hands. "When I was done, he thought he was," she said, and almost choked on her laughter. "He wasn't finishing! He was finishing the female and thought when he did, that he was finished, too. If you could have seen his face when he did, master!" She calmed a little. "But it took him a long time," she added.

"Do you want him again? "he asked, and received a beaming smile in answer. "All right then, you train him in what he needs to do. If you catch, then we'll keep him another rotation. I do want some offspring from him."

Mute was shaken awake that morning by one of the other males. Staggering to his feet, he heard the supervisor coming. He managed to get moving behind the others just in time. Slow movers tended to get a light crack from the supervisor's switch to wake them.

By the time they got to the morning meal, Mute could tell that some story about him was waking the rounds. He was getting a lot of sympathy looks from the men, and amused looks from the women.

"Heard you were with Red last night, "Bull said from his left side. Bull resembled what he was named after. He was all muscles and brawn and proud of it. Mute remembered that he had gotten rough with one of the girls and punished, but he never heard what the punishment was. "What did you do?"

Mute kept his spoon going- there was only so much time to eat and those that seemed to be lingering sometimes got moved along in unpleasant ways- and looked at Bull blankly. He had no idea what Bull was talking about. He finished his bowl and went to put it up, remembering with regret the wild food he used to gather. Bull followed him, putting up his own bowl. "You must have done something "he persisted, "Why else would she get you?"

"I didn't get Mute because he beats up females," Red said behind them. "I got him because he knows how to do more than stuff it in and buck a few times." She stepped back and beckoned to the startled mute slave. "Master wants to speak with you, Mute." Puzzled but obedient, Mute went behind her, followed by a chorus of muted laughter from the slaves close enough to hear the comment. As they walked toward the door, the laughter swelled to most of the room.

Bull resembled the animal he was named after in more than one way. Humiliated, he roared and charged at the two, not knowing himself which one he aimed for.

Red and Mute were almost out of the door when Mute heard the roar. He turned to see the charge coming, and his self-defense training kicked in.

Sam always woke with his old memories intact, and some training was ingrained. He pushed Red out of the way. Stepping back, he grabbed and added force to Bull's charge, resulting in the larger man having an intimate encounter with the wall. The larger man went down. Mute moved back, falling into a defensive crouch without any thought. He glanced back to see Red backing up, stunned by the response to her careless words. He had to wonder where the supervisors were. He spared a moment to glance around. They were watching. He cursed internally. At the end of the fight, both of the slaves involved in the fight would get a beating, no matter who started it. In the meantime, the supervisors were going to watch the show, stopping it only if one of them were seriously hurt.

Well, Mute had no intention of getting two beatings. Bull's head was clearly thicker than Mute thought, because he was getting up and advancing again. His eyes went from Mute to the female behind him. Seeing Red decided him. He started to rush forward again. Clearly he had every intention of going through Mute to get to Red if he had to.

He met the wall again, but this time Mute fell with the effort. Red disappeared before Bull got up again. Not seeing her, Bull went after the target in front of him. Mute was not quite up when Bull came after him again. Does he know how to do anything but charge? Mute wondered and fell back, catching Bull in the belly with his feet and throwing him bodily over his head. He managed to get up before Bull did, and panted, waiting.

Bull did not know when to quit. He got up again. This time the brawny man did not charge. Oh, great, he can learn, Mute thought. Glancing back, he figured out why. Bull thought he had Mute pinned against the back of the hall. The bigger man grinned as he approached. He swung a fist the size of a sledgehammer.

Summoning up all the strength he had left and praying this would work, Mute grabbed the wrist coming at him and moved, one leg in the right position to trip the larger man. Bull found his face on the floor again, this time with Mute's knee in his back and his thick arm twisted behind him. He bucked and roared, trying to get up, and unable to.

"That's enough," came the command, and Mute let go and moved back quickly. "Come here, Mute." Mute turned. His supervisor was waiting, switch ready, and Mute started toward him with leaden feet. Life is such a bitch sometimes, he thought.

The other supervisor was standing by the first, waiting for Bull. "Come get what's coming to you," the Cybertronian said. Mute noted that Bull's supervisor had a whip out. So they were tailoring the punishments somewhat, he thought, as his supervisor pulled his shirt up and Mute waited for the first blow.

"Stop." Razorclaw said from behind them. Bull was just getting to his feet. "Red will take half of Mute's punishment," the breeder said, frowning down at her. Her head dropped. The hall was dead quiet as the switch fell ten times. Mute gasped or hissed at every blow, but only the supervisor could hear him. When let go, Razorclaw summoned him, and he had to lean against the wall to get to the breeder. He knew he was getting off easy, with Red taking half his beating and with a switch being used instead of a whip, but it still hurt like hell where the switch hit, and he was exhausted from the fight, not to mention lack of sleep.

Red shrieked loud enough for both of them, crying without any shame whatsoever, though Mute thought the supervisor was not as hard on her. She went to Mute afterward, but he pushed her away, making it clear he blamed her that he was hurting. She crept over to Razorclaw, who frowned at her before turning his attention to the next punishment. By this time, Mute could see all the other slaves were gathered, and Bull's punishment began.

It brought back memories that Mute did not want. Memories of his experiences as a slave in his other lives ghosted through his mind as the whip cracked against flesh and Bull howled.

Mute was clinging to the wall to stay upright, and his back was burning. The sounds went on and on before finally it was over, the only sound Bull's sobbing breaths. "Mute, come," he heard from far away, and he pushed off the wall and obeyed.

Then he was on Razorclaw's desk, and comfort, unexpected and welcome, came in the form of a salve that stung and soothed his back. With that, the pain receded enough that he could think. "Here," Razorclaw commanded, and gave him a sip of the nasty tasting medicine Mute remembered from Shrapnel's office. A sip of water followed it. Razorclaw told Red to take Mute to void and tell him if the result was red. The pain medicine was kicking in on the way back. Razorclaw brought both of them back to the desk. He treated Red's back after wrapping Mute in a blanket and telling him to stay still when he was laid down.

Mute did as he was told. He could hear the masters speaking Cybertronian above him. After a time the door closed. Razorclaw nudged him to a sitting position, and pushed something up to support him. Mute looked at him with glazed eyes. "I have never seen or heard of a human fighting like that," the breeder stated. "Bull is twice your size, and you had him down without a weapon."

Faintly that rang alarm bells in Mute's head. He waited. "I wonder how old you are, "the breeder mused. At that, Mute could only shrug. He was fairly sure he was out in the woods free for about ten years before being caught, and he was on the farm for nine years. At the same time, slaves seldom knew how old they were. "The report said you were a youngling when they found you. Has your hair always been white?' Mute nodded. "Were you alone when they found you?" Mute nodded. "Were you born a feral human?" Mute made a gesture that most understood meant he did not understand. "Born wild?" Mute shook his head.

Gradually, under patient yes and no questions and some effort on Mute's part to mime or gesture answers, Razorclaw got a story. The white haired slave was abandoned, but not because he was mute. Red figured out what Mute was trying to say. "There was a bad storm, Master, and most people died."

"Ah. How did you survive?" Mute thought, but he shrugged. "I guess there's no way for you to explain that," the breeder mused. Razorclaw was not really satisfied, and Mute knew it. Red blessedly distracted the breeder. "Master, why did you punish me and Mute? Bull started the fight! He could have killed me or Mute if Mute didn't fight back!"

"You got him mad, and you know better. I've switched you for that before." He frowned at her pout. "I almost made you take all Mute's lashes, but everyone who fights gets punished. Mute knew that." Mute nodded slowly. He did not like it, but one of the strongest rules on both farms Mute was on was that anyone who was involved in a fight was punished with twenty lashes, regardless of fault. The rule did not state what was used. "Mute got switched because he was defending himself, or he would have gotten the same whipping Bull got." Mute was sure that Razorclaw would not have treated him if he were in the least at fault, no matter how much he appreciated Mute saving Red.

"All right. Red, go on the kitchen. Tell them I said you were on light duty." He put her down and watched as she went out. "Mute, I've contacted your supervisor, and I'll leave it to him to decide your duty." He put Mute down, and the speechless slave made his painful way to the storage rooms.

The supervisor had Mute show him how the storage room was organized, while the Cybertronian made notes on a datapad. It took a good portion of the afternoon. "You're going to work with me on a few more of these," the supervisor said. "Seems you have a talent for putting things in a reasonable order. " He stroked Mute's hair. "I know you didn't start that fight, but you know the rules. I'm glad Razorclaw made that girl take some of your lashes, though, the thoughtless little idiot. Here." He handed Mute a packet. "Go help Bull. "

Bull was in the slave's quarters, and he was not in good shape; his back was swollen with cuts and bruises from the whipping. His face was swollen from slamming into the wall and floor multiple times. Mute washed the worst of the cuts first, and applied the salve the supervisor gave him. Somehow that loosened the strained silence between them. Bull started to talk about how he got upset with one of the females and hit her, and how Red had been his punishment. He was chained more tightly than Mute. Red kept him roused without release until he was in serious pain, and told him it would happen again if he ever hit another female.

Mute actually thought that the punishment fit the crime.

"But you were with her. What did you do?" Mute gave him an exasperated look and touched his neck. "Well, were you chained?' Mute nodded, and touched his wrists, ankles, and waist. "She hurt you?" He shook his head. "Used you?" He nodded. "Did you like it?" Mute nodded. "You're strange." Ignoring that shot, Mute found cloth and dipped it in cold water to help the swelling. His own pain was reduced to soreness by now.

The next night, and every other night for about two weeks, he went back to Red. He was still bound, but the length of the chains varied, and what she would allow him to do varied. The end result was the same each night; no matter how many times he managed to bring her, she made certain he finished inside her.

On the last night they spent together, she chained him tightly enough that he could not move his arms or legs at all. Her excitement that night frightened him at first; he did not forget what she did to Bull, or that he was helpless. Instead, she brought him twice, quickly the first time, and very slowly the second. Afterward, she said, "It's been my fertile time, Mute." She brushed sweaty hair back from his face.

"My last baby died," she said sadly. "I went all the way to the end, but it died while it was being born. " She trailed her hands down to his neck. "I want your baby. I want a white-haired boy or red-headed girl who's as smart and sweet as you. Master says if I catch this time, he'll let me keep it. But to get a girl to catch, you have to finish inside her." She talked a little longer, earnestly instructing him in what he was doing wrong. At the look on his face as she went on, she said, "You didn't know, Mute. "

Damnation, he thought, despair running through him as she stroked his face and tried to make him feel better. She was probably pregnant. Two good things, he thought; she's the only one I'm leaving pregnant, and they don't know I was acting deliberately. Besides, she said she could keep it; at least the baby will have a chance for a slightly better life. He knew that the current set of studs was scheduled to be transferred the day after tomorrow, and he assumed he was one of them.

After breakfast he headed for the supply room as usual. His supervisor called him aside and took him to a storeroom. The place was an absolute mess. "Clean it up," the supervisor instructed. Mute looked the room over and got to work.

. He got everything out, figured out what was in the storeroom, and started organizing. It took him all day, and according to his stomach it was close to dinnertime when he was down to sweeping the floor, everything in some kind of order and cleaned. He heard footsteps and kept working, assuming it was his supervisor checking on him. Then a large, warm metal hand fell on his shoulder.

"Listen closely, Mute," Razorclaw said softly. "I've been a breeder for a long time, several generations of humans long. I remember when feral humans were common. They tended to be reluctant to breed." Sam waited, afraid to look up and tensed for the whip he was certain was coming. "Now, Red believes that you did not know what you were doing wrong. I have no reason to doubt that. Yet. So, I am keeping you for another cycle. Red will speak with your partners, and like her, they will be sure you finish as you should."

The hand on his shoulder gripped a little more firmly. "I want children from you. I want the combination of your calm and intelligence. We don't need idiots like Bull who are all muscle and temper. Don't defy me in this, Mute. Unless you want to go to the mines with a beating that will make Bull's look light and a report that you're a troublemaker." Sam shivered involuntarily. "I see you understand me. If you perform as needed, and I have a reasonable result, then I'll either let you go back to Shrapnel or I'll keep you here to help raise Red's child by you, depending." The pressure on his shoulder eased. "And understand that I am watching you."

Sam nodded. "Finish up and I'll walk you to the kitchen," Razorclaw said pleasantly. Sam obeyed, moving numbly. When they reached the kitchen, the breeder commanded, "Look at me." Sam looked up into red optics. "You are rare, Mute. As rare and valuable as my Red, and I want more of you. " A gentle finger stroked over his hair and under his chin. "I can make your life a lot easier, my wise one. Don't force me to destroy you. Now go eat."

That night Sam lay sleepless on his pad, his mind running in circles. After a night with no sleep at all, he was one of the first up. He ate automatically and went to the storeroom as normal. Then he discovered that his bottle of wood alcohol was not in the place he left it. He sighed and rubbed his head.

"There you are," his supervisor said, coming in the room. "Come show me what you did yesterday." Sam went with him to the storeroom and showed him how it was organized, earning a nod of approval. "Good. Oh, and I found a bottle of some of the cleaning stuff sitting around. I'm locking it in the closet. Some of the other studs thought it was water and got sick after drinking some." Sam nodded, with a leaden feeling in his chest. He had lost his easy way out.

The carrot and the stick, he thought as he worked on another storeroom, but this time near his supervisor's office. On the one hand, a vicious punishment followed by the harshest work conditions he knew of, and on the other, the continuation of his easier life, with the chance to see his own child grow up and have a chance to protect and teach it.

Razorclaw knew very well how to motivate humans. He had been very careful to add the praise. If the only life Mute had ever lived was this one, he would have done anything to prove he was worthy of that praise- that he was worth something, that he was special- when all his life he was the 'flawed' one. Added to the reminder of destruction, which every slave was under any time he fell under the optics of a master, and Razorclaw had to believe he had Mute in the palm of his clawed hand.

But underneath Mute was Sam. Being seen as special meant that Sam was that much closer to being found out. If Sam was found out-he did not want to even think about that. Yes, Sam did want to find out what was going on with him, why he did not die, why he came back as the gawky teenager he was at his first death, why he kept his memories, why he lost his vocal cords and why his hair was white -the questions went on. But he did not want to find out from a cage as the Decepticon's lab rat, and the chance that Razorclaw would see something else that would make him wonder was pretty high.

Somehow, somehow he had to get out of this trap he saw closing around him, without going through either hell he foresaw he would endure. If it was a quick death he was facing, or one relatively unknown, he might be able to find his courage. But a long trip through a fire he remembered all too well- that was a fate he cringed from. Right now he just did not know what to do, not even with more than a century and a quarter's experience behind him.

He realized with a start that he had cleared out and cleaned the storeroom. He looked at the contents and began to sort them into reasonable categories in his mind. Considering he had managed almost an army's logistics from his young adulthood, the work was familiar and soothing. He shoved his worries away and concentrated on the task at hand.

Razorclaw stopped by the office where the supervisor had stopped his own work to check on the white-haired slave's progress. After a moment of watching Mute look over the pile, look back into the room, and then start moving items in some kind of order, they both slid into the office to sit. "You let him work alone?' Razorclaw asked.

The supervisor shrugged. "Mute's smarter than you'd think. He reorganized the big storage room on his own, to make his work easier, and when I noticed, I got him started on these. This is his third storage room. I'm kind've looking to see how he does it. He's one of the few I trust to work without my optic on him."

"What's he done?"

"So far, he's just pulled everything out and cleaned first. Then he just went back and forth for a while, looking at what he had and how much space he had. Then he started moving stuff. He cleans it as he goes."

"Any particular order?"

"There's an order but I haven't quite figured it out. Want to look at the storerooms? Since all the other studs are with my partner, I have a little time. Maybe you'll see something I don't."

Razorclaw went to the larger storage room. While they were there, several of the women came in looking for various things. "He's got the more used items in convenient places," Razorclaw noted. "Then the rest are in some kind of order, with one box open so you can see what's in the stack, or that the symbol's on the side. See, he's got all the boxes with the same glyphs in the same area."

"Just put same with same, then?" The supervisor nodded. "It must have been the order that got to me, then." They went to the other storage room, and noted the same. "See, one box is left open so you can look in and see what's in it. That way the slave can find it, but if there's an old box, they can go by the glyph. Makes sense. "There seemed to be relief in the supervisor's voice.

"What about the order was bothering you?" Razorclaw said curiously. He let his eyes move over the boxes and items.

"The ways the glyphs were organized. It just looked familiar, and I couldn't figure out why." He pulled out a datapad and used it to mark down the order the glyphs were in. Razorclaw stopped him within a minute, and pointed. "I wasn't imagining it, then." They looked at each other, then at the datapad and the storage room. The glyphs were organized in the order of the glyphs on the datapad. They went back to the large storage room and found the same. They went back to where Mute was clearing out the last of the items and found it organized the same. Mute was sweeping the floor, moving slowly. When he saw them approach, he stepped to the wall and lowered his head, effacing himself the way a slave was supposed to.

"Good job, Mute," the supervisor said absently. Mute nodded, and started to finish cleaning. "Hey, Mute, I saw you put everything in the same order in here as the other two storerooms." Mute glanced up and nodded. "Is there a reason why you have it in that order?" Mute shrugged. He glanced over the boxes, considering, and then simply shrugged again.

"Mute," Razorclaw said, and Mute turned his way, not looking up. That was still good slave behavior. "Have you seen one of these before?" Mute looked and pointed at the datapad. "Yes, one of these." Mute nodded, clearly puzzled, and made a gesture that Razorclaw did not understand.

"Back at the farm," the supervisor said, familiar by now with Mute's gestures. Mute nodded. "You worked in the buildings?" Mute nodded and lifted his broom. "Cleaning. So you saw these there?" Mute nodded. "How often?" Mute made a gesture. "Daily?" Mute nodded. He could see relief in both of the Cybertronians, and had to wonder just what the hell was wrong. He was tired; he had worked hard today, and not slept the night before. "Finish up, then, and go get your food." Mute went back to his cleaning.

The two Cybertronians left, and when they got to the office, they smiled at themselves. "He saw the datapads often enough that he just went by the order the glyphs were on the datapad," the supervisor said. "Primus, I can't believe I was worried that he might actually understand what they meant."

"What wave did you come in on?" Razorclaw asked slowly. The supervisor was a late arrival, when the humans were subdued. "I was third wave. They still had some of their civilization left then. Humans had several written languages. They had their own communications, and extensive governments. Nothing united, they hadn't advanced that far. I remember that. I remember Starscream admitting to Thundercracker once that if the second and third wave hadn't come when they did, they could have forced out or killed out what was left. This wouldn't have been the base we needed to fall back to when the Autobots founded that alliance of the other races. They were about to take this planet back, and it was luck more than anything else that it worked out how it did. "

"But they're weak and stupid-"

" Human's greatest weapon is their creativity and their adaptability. They made and used tools. They made damned good weapons to kill each other, and when we showed, they used them against us. They killed a lot of us, and some were far enough gone we couldn't revive them. It actually took us several of their generations before they were completely subdued, and then there were still splinter groups we had to track down. That's why we still have patrols, you know. Just in case there's a group of them left. One of them found Mute, in fact."

He rose, ready to leave. "So don't assume that some kind of genius can't appear that can learn our written language. Never our spoken language, because they'll never manage that, but several of them did learn the written language back then. Now we keep them under our thumbs, because if we don't- this is their world, and they might take it back. "

Back on the ship, Razorclaw remembered that conversation. Seeing the colony only proved how right he was; the humans here were certainly a threat should they ever decide they wanted Earth back. "I really wish at least of the children had survived," the breeder murmured to Sam. "You do have lovely hair." That was the reason he wanted to breed Mute in the first place, though the smallest reason in the end. "I wonder if it would have bred true."

"I doubt it. My hair was dark when I was young," Sam murmured. "It didn't turn white until I woke up from my first death, when I held the All-Spark."

Razorclaw laughed.


	3. Watts

I do not own Transformer or I would be making money off of this. Oh, well. Remember that suggestions are welcome for the lifetime that was never described except the death (by tornado); send by PM or review. Reviews are always welcome. Thanks to nessus for this story idea.

Watts

When Watts reached the storeroom, he found Razorclaw and Dead End bending over something. They looked over when he approached, and he saw the human lying on the table. "Your turn?" Razorclaw asked.

"Yes. What's going on? Is something wrong with Quiet?" He came closer and saw that the Master's pet was curled up in a blanket and shivering.

"_Sam_ is warmer than he should be," Razorclaw said, "and I was checking his wounds for rot." The larger mech ran a hand over the human's hair gently. "I think we'll be safe and give you something for that fever." Dead End produced a small device with a sharp point on one end and a plunger on the other. Sam uncovered an arm. Dead End pushed the needle into his shoulder and pressed the plunger. "You still need to take the rest of your medicines."

"I'll be sure he takes them," Watts said. He walked over and held out his hand. Sam climbed on slowly, but when Watts brought him closer, settled on his arm and against his chassis easily. Dead End and Razorclaw watched with sour looks; there was no question that Sam trusted some cons more than others, and Watts was one of the ones he trusted most. Watts held out his hand. Dead End gave him the medicines and the food package.

"Sam," Razorclaw said, and the human opened his eyes and turned a tired gaze and a flushed face to the breeder, "try to drink more liquid, a glass an hour. All right?" Sam nodded. Watts left for the rec room, which was empty.

Lord Megatron was clear to all of them that being the holder of the All-Spark, Sam would not be physically abused, and that Megatron was the only one that was Sam's master. After he spoke to the Master the day after his recapture, Sam seldom talked, reverting to nods and head shakes most of the time. Most of the former supervisors reverted to the yes and no questions they were used to with their version of Sam.

At the same time, when the pain medicines were at their best strength, Sam would relax and answer questions freely. Watts saw that the human look at the food and sigh; half of the food was the slave ration that was fairly soft, and the human food had to be dissolved into water. Normally Dead End provided the food prepared.

"Do you want me to warm that for you?" the construction engineer offered. Sam nodded, handing Watts his cup, and Watts used his laser at its lowest setting. When the water was hot, Sam used a folded blanket to take the cup, mixed the colony food in and then broke the ration into it. That mixture went down slowly, followed by the medicines. Watts put him in the cage long enough to get more water, but Sam went back into his hand when offered, a sign that he wanted warmth and/or company.

"Quiet-"

"Quiet died," Sam reminded him, and drank about half of the water.

"Don't remind me," Watts sighed. "The others keep mentioning that mine was the only lifetime you were deliberately killed by a master." Sam shifted so he could look up at Watts better.

"I was killed five times by Decepticons," Sam pointed out. "My first lifetime, Lord Megatron killed me by knocking me off the building. My second, two of Hook's unit killed me, and one of Bonecrusher's killed me in my third, when I was in the Resistance. Then my last lifetime, Decibel killed me when my arm was cut off and I was bleeding to death. " He sighed. "I just meant that I'm not Quiet now."

"I remember you talking about the time with Lord Megatron." Sam spent an hour one afternoon telling a fascinated audience how he got the All-Spark. "I knew about Decibel, too. I thought you were in the mines on your third life."

"I was for a year before I escaped, with a few others. We found an opening to the surface from the mine." Sam shifted until he was lying comfortably but they could see each other as they talked.

"Didn't they track you by your collars?" Collars rendered escape impossible for slaves due to the tracking sensors included in the electronics. Only a master could get a slave collar off; humans had no way to disable the electronics that would shock a slave into unconsciousness before they could get the collar off.

"They didn't have collars then. The collars started out as a way to tell free humans from slaves. " Sam yawned, a sign that the medicines were working. "The resistance got some of their fighters in with the slaves to cause damage, or to free the other slaves." He sipped the water. "The rest came later."

Watts hummed a moment. "What I wanted to know," he said, "was that when we were working on the timeline, there were a lot of years that were unaccounted for, except the time between me and Scrapper. I wondered if you knew why."

"I lived free."

"How?" Watts asked, mystified. "I know I picked you up from the screening camp, but they said you were abandoned because you were flawed. They put you in the camp because you survived on your own in the wild, so they knew you had to be smart. You looked young, the age of the others in the camp. But when we looked at the time lines, there were almost twenty years between when you died with Razorclaw and when they found you. "

"I need to void," Sam said. He got more water when he was finished, but he accepted the hand out. When he was settled again, he said, "I didn't know exactly how long I was free that time, because it's hard to keep accurate time when you're on your own like that. That was the longest I stayed free after the Resistance was destroyed."

"But you looked no older than the other boys there. Promising, of course, the only reason I got you was because you couldn't talk."

Watts came to the education camp skeptical. He knew that these slaves were considered the cream of the crop when it came to healthy, intelligent boys, but he wondered just how intelligent they were. After all, they were still organics. He knew that humans could learn the simpler wiring, and they were small enough to get in and do repairs in small areas that otherwise would have to be taken apart and rebuilt. He had recently lost the best of his crew, and when he reported the death and the need for a trained replacement, Hook told him bluntly ,"You want a replacement, train your own. You aren't getting any of mine when I've got them trained as much as the idiots can be. Take better care of them next time."

Watts took better care of his crew than Hook did, and they both knew it. Grudgingly Hook added, "They have a camp for training the more promising of the human younglings for the energon plant. Maybe they can give you one that's been passed over. They're young, they're smart, and they've had obedience training with the other work, so they don't go through the mines. Try it, and see if they last longer. Make it a project and tell me how it works."

Watts arrived at the camp with his referral from Hook and a flask of high grade to share. The high grade worked better than the referral in getting the attention of one of the trainers. The energon plant got the best, but there were a lot of boys passed over. "Most of them are promised," the trainer said thoughtfully, "but-you said you wanted one to do electronic wiring, correct?"

"Yeah. My crew does repairs on large buildings and work like that. Humans can get in the small spaces and do simple repairs without tearing up the walls," Watts explained. He looked over the camp. While all the slaves here were young and male, they varied widely otherwise. He saw varieties of skin colors from a solid black to a copper color to a yellowish tinge to pale white. Most hair was dark, but there was one with orange tints to his hair, and several whose hair was lighter brown or yellow. One actually had white hair. Eyes color varied from black to brown to green to a rare blue, and height ranged by as much as a foot. "Where do these come from?"

"All over this planet," the trainer said with pride. "Now, I've got one with a real talent for electronics, but he can't talk. He was found living in the wilderness, and the patrol leader was impressed by how smart he was. He evaded them for days, and when they did track him down, they found out he figured out how to make a fire and gather food plants. They were sure he'd been there for months. So they brought him here, and the director tested him. Got one of the highest scores we've ever seen."

"So he might have been trained for something illegal, and someone got rid of the evidence?" Watts guessed.

"No way to know at this point. He can't tell you, and really, who cares? His voice mechanism is gone, taken out somehow looking at the scar." The trainer looked over at the group of boys. "Quiet!" The white-haired boy looked over, and at the trainer's wave, came over. He stood in the correct submission pose. "Look up," the trainer instructed, and when Quiet raised his head, touched his chin. "Let's look at your scar." Quiet obediently tilted his head back so Watts could see his scar. Watts took him to one of the training rooms and tested him.

Two days later, Quiet joined his crew. The others in the crew were older men who had been from the mines. They took Quiet in and looked after him, showing him how to get into the walls and trace the wiring. Watts remembered when Crackle came back from one entry to tell him that the wiring was extensively burnt, and he could not repair it. He described the damage, which took some time. "Where's Quiet?" Watts asked. He needed his crew out of the way before he started taking the wall down.

"I thought he was behind me," Crackle said, turning. "I'll go get him." He started to go back into the wall. "He's coming, master," he called, and waited. Quiet came out with a pile of ruined wiring in his hand. "I told the master about the problem," he said. Quiet shook his head and gestured turning the power on.

"Show me what you did first," Watts commanded, and gave him some colored markers that the school used for training. Quiet drew the old wiring and demonstrated the damage and then drew how he had wired around it. Watts looked over the repair, nodded, and said, "Take Crackle with you and show him what you did." Returning, Crackle confirmed the work. Watts flipped the switch, and the power ran. "Next time show me what you want to do, and let me approve it. "

Before too much longer, Quiet was doing more of the difficult repairs. Watts sometimes changed the schematic, but often he let Quiet do the work. Watts went back to the school and picked up another youngling, and then another. As they were trained, Watts reported on his encouraging results to Hook.

The younglings learned quickly. In some ways they were more trouble, because they were more likely to play pranks on each other and sometimes got into fights. Some light switching and punishment detail generally slowed down the trouble. But a lot of the success of the program was due to Quiet. Even speechless, he managed to train the new boys and he provided rewards that no master would ever think of.

One evening, when the crew was supposed to be in quarters for the night, Watts saw Quiet slipping out. It was a bright moonlit night, and Quiet carried one of the handheld lights the crew used in the buildings and a basket. Watts followed him as he made his way into the woods and to a particular tree full of oddly shaped hangings. Quiet gathered the hangings into the basket before going to another tree and picking much smaller round globes. When the basket was full, he went back, stopping to run water over the tree hangings. Watts could not figure out why he bothered until Quiet put several in his mouth. After a time, he spit something into his hand and threw it on the ground. There was hissing from the barracks, and Quiet moved in.

Watts went to the door, squatted, and said, "All right, all of you, come out and bring that basket with you." He turned on an outside light as most of the younger members of his crew came out. Quiet had the basket in his hand. They lined up, in the proper submission posture, but he knew them well enough to know they were all pouting.

He held out his hand for the basket and spilled it into his hand. Some of the smaller globes crushed, making red marks. "What is this?"

Quiet looked over at the others, unable to explain. Watts pointed to Twist, named for his curly black hair. "It's food," the boy said, and glanced at the others, who nodded unhappily. "Quiet finds it on the trees."

Watts remembered that the patrol said Quiet found food plants in the wild or he would not have survived. "And just how long has this been going on?" It transpired that Quiet consistently gathered food when it was available. "I know you have all been getting your ration. Are you not getting enough?'

"The wild food tastes good," one finally admitted. "It's wild, and Quiet can't always get some." Meaning, Watts gathered, that they were afraid their rations would be cut if the masters knew they could find food in the wild. They were glancing at the food in his hand with longing. He put his hand down, and told them to get it. Their reaction was immediate. Quiet was closest, and he rationed it out fairly, giving himself a full portion. "Hey, you got some when you picked it," one protested.

"He doesn't have to share at all," another one told him and the protester shut up. They munched at the hangings happily, spitting something into their hands. He looked at what they rejected, finding small hard round objects were in the hangings. Watts had never seen slaves enjoy eating so much. They sucked at the juice and licked their hands when the food was gone.

"Now," Watts said, getting their attention. "First, Quiet knows what's safe and what isn't, so he gets the food, not the rest of you. If any of you get sick from it, there will be no more. From now on, Quiet, you get it only when I give you permission. Any trouble, the gathering stops. When you can't gather, I'll let you have extra portions if you earn them."

Nothing, Watts found, nothing he ever found, not switching, not punishment detail, absolutely nothing motivated those boys more than getting the gathered food or having it taken away. Their performance excelled. The problem was that the gathering was unpredictable, because the food was wild, and most of it did not keep well. There were exceptions. One was the time that they found small flying animals in one of the buildings. Watts condemned it, but Quiet asked to go in before they left. He took a bucket and something else with him. Watts almost panicked when he was inside and Watts could smell smoke, but after a time Quiet came out with some kind of liquid in the bucket. He showed the result to Watts, and then to the boys. When the boys tasted the stuff, they wanted to keep eating it. Quiet waved them back and got permission to store the stuff in jars. Watts confiscated it, and as long as it lasted, gave small amounts for rewards. Quiet got his own jar.

As a result of the project, Watt's results improved, and he started getting better assignments. When Hook lost crew members, Watts did not object when the construction leader took Watt's older crew members. That gave him an excuse to find and train more boys. Hook did not want Quiet, saying he had no time to deal with a flawed slave. Both Watts and Quiet were relieved.

When trouble arrived, it came in the guise of an apprentice. Hook assigned Hotwire with the idea of starting another unit to train the slaves. Hotwire got good results with the older slaves, Hook said. Watts gave him a unit and an assignment. But Hotwire did not get good results. It took his crew twice as long to get work done, and more of his buildings were condemned.

Then Watts came across Quiet tending one of the boys, Sand. There were livid red marks across the boy's back. Quiet's expression was furious until he saw Watts, when he smoothed his expression into the bland mask most slaves wore. Watts spoke to him, and then to the rest of Hotwire's crew. All of them had scars on their backs, which they said Quiet had tended. Watts was grateful; when Quiet tended a wound, the slave rarely got rot in the cuts.

"Where were you working before you came here?" Watts asked Hotwire.

"The mines," Hotwire said.

"You can go back there," Watts informed him. "I've already contacted Hook, and he approved your reassignment. Your results are poor. You came close to killing one of your slaves."

"The wiring burnt out, so I punished him," Hotwire said. "Your slaves need to be taught their place anyway. They argue with me. I've had to beat all of them."

Watts controlled his temper. He would not lower himself to Hotwire's level. "My slaves are the best. They told you that the wiring would result in a fire, and you ignored their advice. Then when the building collapsed, you blamed them. " He knew that the slaves had not argued so much as pointed out a flaw, something he trained them to do so that they learned how to look for problems. If they were wrong, he explained but they did not get the gatherings that day; if they were right, he rewarded them with some of the liquid Quiet gathered. They were rarely right, so they seldom said anything unless they were sure. They wanted the liquid enough that they would speak up if they were certain.

"Who are you going to believe, a bunch of organics or me?" Hotwire growled. "Of course they're lying. They hate me. "

"Let me put it this way. All of your next set of schematics go through me before the slave put them together. That way I'll know who is lying. If they are, I'll punish them. If they aren't, you're leaving, not for the mines, but for the asteroids. Do you understand?" Hotwire hissed in fury. "And you do not punish the slaves anymore. You bring it to me, and I'll punish them. I need them in good health. It takes time to train these slaves, and they aren't replaceable like the ones at the mines. Sand won't be able to work for weeks, and that's going to slow us down."

"You coddle your slaves," Hotwire said in contempt.

"And as a result, I have the best record in Hook's units," Watts responded evenly. "The education camp lets me have the energon plant rejects because I don't waste their training. Your methods dropped production by more than a third. You are not staying. That's decided. The difference is whether you go to the mines or the asteroids." He sent a databurst. "Here is the information and the building. You'll work with Quiet and Kink. Quiet doesn't talk, but he draws the schematics for you. Understand?"

He had already given Quiet instructions to show him any schematics that Hotwire gave him before doing the wiring. As instructed, Quiet brought the drawing, and Watts saw the problem. Hotwire was no longer dealing with rock, and he regularly put enough power through that the building material, all of it old if solid, would burn. Quiet showed an alternate method, which would take longer but would not heat the wiring and cause burnout. Watts approved the alternate wiring and sent him to implement it. Hook came up as he left.

"Go over your complaint with Hotwire," Hook said. Watts went over the facts, hiding the fear thrumming in his spark. Hook did not tolerate incompetence, but he was second wave, and those in the early wave was always suspicious of slaves. Watts simply could not understand why. Humans were soft, small, weak, and so easy to hurt that he could not imagine how they could possibly be a threat. Early humans had weapons, but these boys did not.

"Stupid fragger," the construction leader finally spit out. "I don't give a frag if you coddle your slaves, as long as you get results, and you get results. Lets go look at the work." Watts turned, just as one of the boys came running as fast as he could. He was crying. Seeing the other master, he got into the proper position as fast as he could.

"What is it, Freckle?" he asked. The spots the boy was named after stood out on his white, wet face as he responded.

"The other master- he said Quiet disobeyed him, and any master can punish disobedience-"Watts was moving before he finished the sentence. A minor punishment would not have upset Freckle this much. The normal punishment for disobeying a master was fifty lashes, and he already knew how rough Hotwire was. He had to hurry.

But it was too late when he got there. He knocked Hotwire back and seized the whip before looking down at Quiet. One glance at the piece of breathing broken meat was all he needed to know that Quiet would never work again. Not seeing Hook, who was stooped over Quiet, Hotwire only snarled, and Watts knew that the mistake was his own. Hotwire knew Quiet was by far Watt's favorite slave and the most important. This was revenge, pure and simple. "All he had to do was scream," the cruel con said, smirking.

There was a soft snapping sound. Watts turned to see that Hook had put poor Quiet out of his pain. "You knew Quiet was flawed," Watts hissed. "Who's in the building?" Kink came out. He saw the masters and started to back up. "Come here, Kink," Watts said, and waved. Kink came over. He saw the body and started crying, but forced himself over and into position. "Tell me what you were ordered to do," he said.

"The master," he nodded at Hotwire, "said to complete the work the way he ordered. He said he would beat me if I used Quiet's." He held out the board that had both schematics on it.

Hook took it. "Go to your barracks and tell everyone in your unit to go there as well. Stay there," he said. "You will not be punished." Kink stuttered out his acknowledgment and ran. They could hear his sobs as he moved. He looked at the schematics. One had Hotwire's glyph on it. "Turn it on," he told Watts, who did. Within only a few moments they knew the result. The smell of burning told them. "You killed a human because he knew the work better than you did," Hook said to Hotwire. "Not only is that a waste of a resource that is all too hard to find, but it means that you're less competent than an organic." He tossed the clipboard down. "Watts. Take that and deal with it. I'll take care of him."

Watts heard the blows and the screams as he carried Quiet's body away, viciously glad that Hotwire was getting a taste of his own medicine. He heard later that Hotwire went to the asteroids and died in an explosion he had wired himself.

Back on the ship, Watts stroked Sam's hair. "Primus, but I missed you," he said sadly. "Oh, the project went on, but the next time Hook assigned two who were rumored to be soft on slaves. They learned to handle the boys the way I did, and prove the project worked. But back to what I was asking before. There was a twenty year gap between when that patrol found you and when you died with Razorclaw. Were you out in those woods all that time?"

Sam nodded. "I change, but I don't age," he said. The flush had faded from his face, and he looked more comfortable. "Watts, do you know how to play chess?" Watts nodded, puzzled. "How about a game?" Watts agreed, and got beat twice before he started taking Sam's challenge seriously.

Curled into a blanket in his cage later, falling into a restful sleep, Sam realized that there was hope for the slaves on Earth if the Alliance by some miracle gained control. Those boys would be easy to identify and train into administration. If they needed leaders, they had some potential to tap.

A/N Points to anyone who can tell me what kind of 'hangings' they were eating, what the insects were, and what the liquid was.


	4. Reminder

I did not intend to post another story until after Christmas, but this plot bunny bit down and would not let go until I wrote this and posted it. It's short and not my usual standard, but anyway, Merry Christmas.

Reminder

Razorclaw placed Sam back in the cage, coming from the most recent contact with Megatron. As usual, the Decepticon leader required Sam to undress. "You are healing," he said, clearly pleased. "Get dressed." Megatron watched how stiffly Sam moved. "How much longer before he is completely healed?" he asked the breeder.

"If Sam continues healing at this rate, he will be fully recovered by the time we return, my lord," Razorclaw said.

"Good. Sam, look at me." Sam looked up at the Decepticon leader. "Your improvement in health and manner pleases me. However, you are still to be restrained unless in your cage or under the direct eye of Razorclaw or anyone he designates, as before. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," Sam said. His face was the bland slave expression that Razorclaw knew well.

"Razorclaw, you have done well." The connection was gone. The trip back to the cage was silent, and the breeder left, knowing that Sam needed some time alone after seeing the Master.

Dead End came, provided Sam's meal, and offered him pain medicines. Sam refused politely and started nibbling at the food, which consisted of the normal slave ration. As soon as Dead End was out of sight, Sam dumped it in the waste disposal and returned his gaze to the screen. There was a large star dominating the screen.

"What're you looking at?" Sam turned to see a crew member come in. He was a standard Decepticon, chunky, deep red with green trim. Sam could see that he had the signs of a hammered out dent on his leg. Sam glanced behind him to be sure there was not someone else the crew member was speaking to. "Yes, little one, I'm talking to you. This place is dead. I'm off duty with this leg." Taking a seat and looking at the screen, he added, "You were staring like there was something interesting out there."

"The star reminded me a story from my youth," Sam responded, and looked back at the screen.

"Yeah? Tell me about it." The last sentence was a demand, not a request. Sam turned and considered the Decepticon. Normally the crew ignored him, afraid of dealing with the fragile human who was Megatron's pet. This one was hurt and looking for distraction. For a moment he seriously considered blowing the 'con off.

Instead, he looked at the star and recited, "And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed, "and kept going. The first time he glanced over, the crew member was staring at him. Figuring that the 'con would soon get bored and go, he went on, listening for the sound of a large metal being moving away.

When he came to the end, he turned, wondering if somehow he just missed hearing the 'con go out. Instead, he found he had more of an audience, consisting of more of the crew. The original blue one was still there. "Any more?" he asked.

Sam blinked. "Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the King, "and went on.

At the end of the story, another of the crew asked, "What Autobot came up with that stuff?"

"It was written on Earth not quite two thousand years before I was born," Sam informed him, "about one of the most influential beings ever to live on Earth." He could not imagine why the 'cons were looking at him like that. Here he thought he would bore one away, and instead here was most of the crew listening.

They considered each other, the puzzled human and the disturbed 'cons. "I see now why the Master kept you near him," the one closest to the door finally said. He was larger than the others, and something was different about him. "All right, all of you, we have work." He indicated the original crew member. "I've got that smoother set up for you." Sam realized that this was the captain. He watched them file out. None of them spoke. After a time, Sam realized what bothered them.

He smiled to himself. No wonder they were quiet. He made them think. It was a wonder he didn't smell smoke from overheating.

Those stories told the 'cons that humans had legends and had history. Sam recited the stories as he read them, long ago, using the old archaic language. The way the stories were written was a craft and an art in itself. Suddenly, those crew members had shoved in their processors that the slaves had a history and a heritage. The stories told of a family structure, of a human government, and of a human religion that did not glorify war or combat, but the value of the ordinary person.

Alone again, he looked back to the screen. The star was no longer there. "Thank you," he murmured, not to the star, but to whatever had sent that sight and that reminder. Christmas, he thought, was never about the gifts or the hype common in his youth. The Christmas story he recited told of hope, and in that hope, the strength of the human spirit. He would not forget again.

.


	5. Shrapnel

Shrapnel

I do not own Transformers except in some very wistful daydreams. Thanks to both nessus and SkyHighFan for the idea for this story. It was a difficult birth but I think the end product is worth the labor. Challenge at the end of the story.

Sam jerked to a sitting position, a static-like noise coming from his electronic voice processor. His eyes traveled over the contents of his cage, and the background of bars, with the table and walls beyond. He realized that he was covered in cold sweat, and that his torso was telling him in no uncertain terms that his current position and the sudden movement that preceded it was not welcome. A few days ago, Sam managed to convince Razorclaw that too much pain medicine was as bad as too little, and the breeder decreed that Sam could refuse the medicine unless he was clearly in pain, in which case the supervisor could override him. Since then, Sam refused all the medicines because sooner or later the supervisors would stop asking questions about his past and start asking about the colony. He knew he talked too much with the tranquillizers in him, and they were included in the pain medicines.

But the tranquilizers that opened his mouth also kept him asleep. The closer he came to Earth, the worse the nightmares were getting. He leaned forward on his arms, trying to get his breath back to normal and deal with the pain before someone noticed.

When he heard heavy footsteps hurrying down the hall and a spate of Cybertronian, he knew he was too late. Before he told them the Christmas story, all of the crew, the captain included, thought that the idea of part of the All-Spark housed in a human was so much scrap. They were annoyed that they were rushing back to Earth because the Master wanted his pet back.

After they heard him recite the story, in that beautiful, archaic language, telling of a human religion and a human government that thrived before Autobots or Decepticons appeared on Earth, they believed. Now they watched him when they were in the rec room, and if they thought anything was wrong, they went for one of the supervisors. They did not dare touch him themselves, afraid of damaging the fragile human that held the power of the All-Spark.

Shrapnel appeared in the door. "Mute, what's wrong?" he asked, as he came over. Sam looked up at the crimson optics and the impulse to deny a problem died. Shrapnel knew Mute too well for Sam to fool him. "Nightmare," he admitted, and maneuvered to get to his knees and then to his feet. "I'm not Mute anymore," he added.

"Not if you're screaming in your sleep," the farm manager replied dryly, and opened the cage. "I take it from the way you're moving that you didn't get the pain medicine last time." Sam said nothing, only heading for the waste container. Shrapnel waited, and when the human finished, lowered his hand into the cage. Resigned, Sam climbed on. "It's past time for your meal anyway. I was letting you sleep."

Shrapnel, like most of the supervisors, grumbled about the medicine rule. He liked talking to Sam when he was on the medicines. Besides, there was a question he wanted to ask, and he would never get a straight answer from Sam unless there was some chemical assistance. In the back room he pulled the food packet and the medicines out with one hand while holding Sam in the other. Considering the unenthused look the human was giving the food packet, he said, "I'll get one of those canned drinks you like but you have to eat the whole packet now. Medicines first. " He set Sam down on the table near the storage boxes. Sam sat on one box and set the food down on another.

"All right," Sam agreed. The meal consisted of the slave ration which was fairly soft and round. With it came one of the colony food bags with dried fruit. Sam tore open the slave food and poured the contents of the bag onto one of the halves before pressing it back together.

"Meds," Shrapnel admonished. "You're hurting." Sam sighed, but he obediently swallowed the pills before he ate. Having finished the meal, he began sipping the drink slowly, savoring it. Shrapnel watched, comparing Sam to Mute. Mute's muscles were much more developed. Mute haunted corners and slipped around in shadows not wanting to be noticed. Sam did not like being the center of attention but he could deal with it.

The farm manager remembered last evening when Watts had Sam on the table, and the human chewing slowly on his ration. "You never told me how you survived when you were free," Watts said. All of the supervisors were in the rec room, with some of the crew. "I know you found wild food, but I remember that sometimes there wasn't anything to find. Did you go hungry then?"

"Sometimes I could store some nuts or dry some fruit, but most of the time I ate meat," he said. "There's plenty of game out there and I built traps for animals and fish." They were all looking at him in horror. "What's wrong?"

"You ate other animals?" Scrapper asked. Sam nodded, and the room erupted with a universal," Ewww!" a sound Sam never thought he would hear from a Decepticon. "I remember once when you first came to me, you wanted to cook some kind of small animal," the labor supervisor went on, "but the crew was as disgusted as I was."

Sam groaned. "When I was young, we ate meat all the time. It was normal. Nowadays," he rolled his eyes. "The colony was just as bad about eating meat, except they said it was primitive, not disgusting. Even Bee said it, and he was on Earth when I was young. Besides, all the farms have tame animals."

"We use eggs and milk in the rations, not the animal. And you complain constantly about the ration," Razorclaw said.

"Ha," the human snorted. "For your information, when the security forces found the ration, they thought it was packing material and wondered why there was so much of it." Razorclaw sputtered, outraged. No one noticed that Sam stopped eating and moved the rest of the ration out of sight. "When I did tell them and they tasted it, they thought you planned to make me eat it as a punishment. Someone wrote about it on the news feed for the public data system."

When the resulting reaction died down, the captain decided to change the subject. "Is it true that Jetfire found a human datapad and let you have it?" he asked. As long as Sam was in his cage or one of the other supervisors were around, he would probe at times. Sam was very cautious answering his questions.

"I found an old human laptop computer in his human toys and Lord Megatron graciously allowed him to give it to me," Sam said. "It was very primitive by your standards, but I could play games on it." He could not help the wistful tone in his voice. "

"But you were able to request in writing to have asylum from our Master," the captain went on, watching Sam. "I was on the bridge during the transmission."

If the captain expected Sam to show fear or apologize for his actions, he was disappointed. Megatron knew that Sam was not only a fighter in the war and later the resistance, but the last and most effective leader. That was part of the reason the Decepticon leader kept Sam in sight or confined. "Yes," Sam agreed. "Human language and writing in the colonies changed very little from when I was young. I learned to read and write before the war. "

An unwelcome suspicion began growing in Shrapnel's mind. In the time while they were in the ship, tracing Sam's movements to find kidnap opportunities, they found that Bumblebee was Sam's guardian and close friend before the Autobots and the beginning of the colony left Earth. Some said the Autobot and the human had a brother bond, an idea the Decepticons scoffed at. At the same time, if Sam already knew how to read and write in human languages, what else might the Autobot have taught him?

There was an unspoken agreement between the supervisors that Sam's life on the colony was to be discussed as little as possible. None of them missed how depressed Sam became when reminded of his lost freedom. Watts asked, "Which life was your easiest?" in an attempt to change the subject. The 'which life' questions often turned into a kind of game. Sam would dance verbally around the subject, with all the supervisors reminiscing on some incident or another from the time they had him.

"Shrapnel," Sam said without any hesitation, and saw the surprise run through all of them, Shrapnel included. Before the questions could start, a report came in that sent all of them back to some kind of assignment. Watts put Sam back in the cage. The uneaten ration disappeared into the waste disposal.

"Why did you say that my lifetime was the easiest?" Shrapnel asked now, as he watched for the signs that the medicines were working. He remembered how he chose Mute to work with him.

"Who's this, Stinky?"

The manager saw the white-haired boy working in the pen as Stinky watched. He muted his olfactory senses as he approached. Stinky worked daily in the animal pens and washed as seldom as he could get away with, earning his name. Years ago when he first appeared, he got assigned here as a punishment for laziness. Most boys tried to work their way out and then worked at least hard enough to avoid being reassigned here. Stinky never got out because he was lazy. He had to clean the administration buildings too, and he did a poor job of it. Even now he was watching the boy work and calling directions instead of getting his other work done.

"That's Mute, Master. His supervisor sent him here for a week because he's been stealing food and hiding it under his sleeping pad. Said if switching didn't work he could stink for a while instead."

"Mute, huh," Shrapnel said thoughtfully. "You! Come here." Mute looked up from his work and came over. The animals that made the job necessary were currently being milked and put into their stalls. The boy came over and took the correct position. Shrapnel remembered him better now. When he came in with the patrol, he had no collar, and few manners.

"Found him out in the mountains," the patrol leader said. "Took us two days to run him down. Could be that he was lost when one of the convoys bringing the younglings from a nursery farm to one of the ones here. He's never made a sound, though he obeys orders."

Shrapnel knew that 'getting lost' was a kind way of saying the boy was shoved off because he was flawed. He had nothing but contempt for that lazy supervisor. Mute should have been culled when he lost the voice mechanism, not after he survived it, or put down mercifully. Death by exposure was slow and cruel. The manager examined the boy, correcting him when he did not take a correct stance. "Primus, he's completely untrained."

"Bright, though," the patrol leader commented. "We had to put a harness on him or we'd have lost him, but if we told him something once, he remembered it. He learned what he could eat out there; every time we stopped he was digging something up or picking something off a tree. Orders are that if they can learn, we bring them in."

"Good of you." Most of the patrols would have used the boy for target practice. Shrapnel was a little short of workers since a fever went through the farm and a few of the boys died. He had some collars. "Well, I can use him. Come on to my office; I'll get him the collar and we can get a drink." Considering the leader's eagerness, he knew why they brought the boy here. Collar on and its use demonstrated, he called an intake supervisor, updated him, and turned the boy over.

Well, the boy learned some manners, at least. Stinky was due to go to the mines. Shrapnel passed him over for breeding due to the laziness and the breeder who examined the boys agreed. Before Stinky, the pens and evening cleaning was a punishment detail, done in addition to a day's work. Shrapnel and Stinky had a silent agreement that Stinky would work around the still and Shrapnel would ignore his snores when he was supposed to be cleaning. Maybe a slave that was mute and could not tell what he was doing was better.

"Show me where you sleep. I want to speak to your supervisor," he told the boy when the punishment detail was finished. When they reached the barracks, Shrapnel heard voices. As most units were still in the fields, he stopped Mute and listened.

"Told you we'd get away with it if we told the master it was Mute taking the food. What's the glitch going to do, tell on us?" There were snickers, and the sound of munching. Mute looked up at Shrapnel, and the manager could see the hope in his eyes. Shrapnel waited for a moment, seeing a large shadow on the side of the building. The munching sounds stopped and there were scrambling noises.

Soon after, the supervisor came out. Spying Mute, he said, "Haven't you learned your lesson by now? This is the third time I've found food under your sleeping pad! Come here." The last was a bored, irritated command. There was a switch in the supervisor's hand. Mute's shoulders slumped, and he took a step. Shrapnel stopped him.

"He's been working in the animal pens all evening with Stinky," the farm manager told his subordinate. "So how did he get the food there?" The supervisor looked at Shrapnel in surprise. "Who came in early?"

A few moments later, Mute got to witness his tormentors being switched for lying and then sent for a punishment detail without their evening ration for stealing food. "The only way to stop them from stealing the food plants is to deprive them of the normal ration," Shrapnel told the supervisor. "It gets the message across better than a switching. Besides, they never hide the food under their own bed more than once." The supervisor nodded. "Now what can you tell me about how Mute works?"

"He does a good job, "the supervisor conceded. "The other boys pick on him a lot. They always do, with the flawed ones."

Shrapnel knew that; both he and the supervisor knew that it was the supervisor's job to teach them better behavior. "Well, since you can't seem to handle him, I'm reassigning the boy. Stinky's leaving with the mine convoy. Mute can take his job, starting tonight. Come on, Mute."

Stinky showed Mute how to do the work the first night. The second night, he watched Mute work. The third night, he was on his way to the mines. Shrapnel found Mute cleaning much earlier than Stinky ever had. He checked the pens. They were done, the manure in its compost heap, the tools put up, and a bucket missing. Wondering about the bucket, he looked again to see Mute washing himself from the bucket, not far from the still. He rinsed the worst of the manure off of his clothes. Then he dumped the bucket, rinsed it, and turned to go back to his chores. When he saw Shrapnel, he started, before going into the submission pose. Clearly he expected a reprimand.

"Good idea, Mute. I was tired of the smell," he commented. Mute dared to look up, and visibly brightened at Shrapnel's approval. "Now show me what you need to do here." Mute went over the chores. He hesitated before pointing to one of the air vents for the still. Shrapnel looked and found some kind of nest there. "Very good. Clean it out, and if you have a problem, let me know."

In the morning, when he woke up from the high grade, he checked over the building. It was completely clean for the first time in years. He checked to see how much work he got done and commed the supervisors the final orders, as usual. He gave Mute an extra set of clothes and told him he was to wash himself and his clothes daily. Mute nodded happily.

One evening Mute came to the office when he had already cleaned. "Something wrong?" Shrapnel snapped. Mute flinched, but he pointed at Shrapnel, held up two fingers, and pointed outside. Shrapnel looked out to see two of the supervisors outside. Mute made a gesture of drinking something, and pointed to them. Shrapnel hummed a moment, before going outside. "Did you tell Mute to bring you some of the high grade?" he demanded.

"He told you?" they asked, shocked.

"Made gestures. Mute!" he yelled. Mute appeared in the door and came over, staying in Shrapnel's shadow. To the supervisors, he said, "You want it, he has to tell me first, and no more than two containers apiece once a week. Give him a problem, and you'll have one. Go get it, Mute." Mute got it, carrying the containers carefully. The supervisors grinned and took them, giving Mute an approving stroke of the hair.

They worked out more gestures as time went by. Shrapnel had fewer problems with the still now that Mute was doing the basic work. Once he watched Mute after he finished dealing with the animal pen, wondering why the slave seemed so content doing what was widely considered a bad assignment.

Mute put metal buckets full of water near the still. He then vanished into the woods for a time. When he came back, he had plants in his hands, and his shirt tucked in and bulging. He washed some brown things pointed at each end and some cone-shaped orange objects. As they had dirt on them, Shrapnel thought they might be roots. Mute also had some leaves he washed. The roots went onto a small metal container and were set near the still where it was hottest. Mute also put his metal water holder in the same area and put the washed leaves in it. Carefully he washed small round deep red objects and ate them as he washed himself and his clothes, spitting something out. Putting on the clean set of clothes, he set the wet ones over the empty buckets and went to get his chores done around the still. Shrapnel noticed that he covered the vent with some of the fine wire net used on the farm, and approved; that would keep the small animals out.

Finished with his chores, Mute poured cool water into the water container. He dumped out the water from the bucket with the roots. Carrying the bucket with him, he went to the building to clean. As he cleaned, he ate the roots and sipped at the water. After he left, Shrapnel looked to see what Mute spit out and found the skins of a small fruit.

Shrapnel went to his office and thought . So, Mute remembered how to find wild food, and using the still to cook it. No wonder he was more than satisfied with his assignment. Mute did not need to steal food to get extra, and since he worked in the evening, he was no longer tormented by the other boys. Shrapnel went back to his datawork, satisfied. Mute showed his gratitude with consistent good work.

Sometime after Mute came to work for him, Shrapnel found that the datawork was always done by the morning and the datapads neatly stacked. He knew Mute was stacking the datapads, because he woke once to see him doing it. "Good boy, Mute," he said thickly. "Let's see how the work's going." He rambled through the building to see if it was clean, talking as he walked. Mute walked with him and nodded at times.

"Hey, shouldn't he be up for rotation?" one of the supervisors asked a few years later.

"He's flawed. He won't go on rotation," Shrapnel told him. But that gave him a warning. All slaves were supposed to be examined. At that time, the decision was made to either sent them to the mines or breed them before sending them to the mines. A slave could be held an extra year before examination for several reasons.

He did not want Mute to go to the mines. Since Mute started working on the still and the cleaning, Shrapnel got all his work done. Mute did not need to be supervised the way Stinky and all the other slaves did, only told what to do. Not to mention that Mute did not stink. He was a soothing presence, and Shrapnel wanted to keep him.

So he made a note that Mute was not to be examined for breeding as he was flawed. He checked again in a few months to be sure he had not forgotten to make the change, and found that he had even remembered to have the note rotate, so that each time Mute's name came up for examination, he was automatically rotated to the bottom of the examination list instead of going to the mine transfer. Any subordinate who commented that Mute had been around a while got transferred.

Then Razorclaw showed up looking for some high grade. He did not often indulge, normally wanting to gossip as much as he wanted to drink, and his visits were normally entertaining. This time he showed too much interest in Mute. But Razorclaw was busy, and the chance that he would remember Shrapnel's flawed slave was low.

One night some time later, Mute came to let him know that an unfamiliar master wanted some high grade. Before Shrapnel could head him off, Razorclaw came in the door after Mute, and grabbed him. Shrapnel grabbed Mute to keep him from being taken for examination and they started shouting at each other. When Mute gave that strange soft whine, about the only sound he could make, they realized they were hurting him and they both let go. Mute started to leave, and Razorclaw put him on the desk to keep him still.

Shrapnel challenged the breeder to do the exam right there. Razorclaw would see the flaw and drop the matter, and without the formal exam paperwork, everything would return to normal. Instead, after giving Mute something for pain, the breeder insisted in taking Mute for breeding, saying the flaw was a wound and not a breeding flaw. Shrapnel saw the pleading look Mute gave him. "He can go when the others do. That'll give me time to train a replacement. I need all the hands I can get until the harvest is in," Shrapnel argued. That would give him another month or so, and Razorclaw might forget about the mute slave by that time. Hearing a thump, he looked over and saw that Mute had slumped over onto the desk, sound asleep.

"If he doesn't get bred, he should go to the mines, as strong and healthy as he is," Razorclaw said softly. "Besides, slaves like breeding, especially the males. Let him have his chance. Then I'll send him back as not being fit for the mines, and you can keep him legally."

"One rotation, and I get him back," Shrapnel qualified.

"Deal," Razorclaw said promptly. "Don't worry, once you have that, no one will bother to take him from you. I've kept slaves that way before. I've got one now who's been with me for years, and I breed her only when she asks."

After three months of dealing with whining slaves on punishment detail, Shrapnel contacted Razorclaw. "When do I get Mute back?" he demanded.

"One more rotation," Razorclaw said. "I've only got one bred from him. I want more. Then I'll send him back. Don't worry, he's not going to the mines if I have to keep him myself. That would be a waste, bright as he is. "

"I need him. Get it over with so I can get him back. "He was no longer getting the work finished at the end of the day and he was taking care of the still himself. Two months later he called again. Razorclaw told him what happened. Ever since he heard that Mute died, the pleading look his flawed slave gave his trusted master haunted the manager. He failed Mute, and he could not forget it.

Resigned, he chose a slave to clean the admin buildings and look after the still. Crip had an oddly shaped leg. He was able to walk, but he limped. Like Mute, he was glad to get away from the other boys who teased him mercilessly, but he needed more supervision than Mute and his intelligence was only normal. Shrapnel left the cleaning of the animal pens as a punishment detail.

Two weeks after assigning Crip, the slave came to tell him, "Master, the still has a funny smell but I can't find why." Shrapnel went to look. He noticed absently that the wire mesh was gone from the vent. The smell was similar to one Shrapnel remembered a few times when Mute was working on the still. Not finding a problem, he told Crip not to worry about it and went back to work. A few hours later, Crip came back. "Master, part of the still is turning red."

Shrapnel jumped up and ran out. Sure enough, the bottom of the still, near the intake valve, was cherry red. "Go back in the building," he told Crip, and turned off the power, but it was too late. The still blew where the metal was red. Shrapnel rushed to the other end of the still and knocked it over, stopping the flow of the energon, but the burning flow went over his foot before he could get out of the way.

He found Crip dead, killed by the explosion, but there were no other casualties. The fire got the woods but missed the farm. Knowing that they would in as much trouble as Shrapnel for not reporting the still, the supervisors held to the official story that lighting struck and started the fire. Shrapnel was off the high grade.

Now that he was sober, the manager realized that someone had to have done some of the work for him. He never discovered who. He often wondered if Mute could have told him, and felt that familiar guilt.

"I think you worked pretty hard for me," Shrapnel said. By this time Sam was relaxing. "So why was I the easiest?"

"The work was steady but it wasn't as hard as the wiring or the labor with Scrapper," Sam assured him. "The factory work was dangerous. I didn't have to deal with other supervisors much, or with those bullies. Besides, the area where you had the still was once somebody's vegetable garden or something. Between that and the woods, I could always find something to eat wild. I could even get meat sometimes, since those squirrels would keep trying to get into that intake."

"You ate them?" Shrapnel could not believe that his gentle Mute would eat another animal. Sam squirmed. "You know the still blew up?" Sam nodded. "You put that wire mesh over the intake, right?"

"Sure, it kept the squirrels out. Why? Did you take it off?"

"Crip did. I remember seeing it. The intake fan probably got one of those animals stuck in it. That's why the still overheated. Well, now I know why." He nodded to himself. "One other question. Someone was picking up and finishing my datawork after I passed out every evening. I know you put up the datapads for me. Did you ever see who did the work?"

He saw Sam tense. "I never saw anyone working on the datapads," Sam said carefully. Shrapnel studied him. Sam was not lying, but he was evading. After a time, the farm manager said, "I guess I'll never find out, then."

Shrapnel was able to replace the pleading look on Mute's face with the grateful one on Sam's. He never knew how much of a burden that guilt was until it was gone.

A/N: Can anyone guess what the vegetables were?


	6. Dead End

I do not own Transformers; I merely play with the characters and wish I did.

**Dead End**

"_Well, well, if it isn't the little insect," Megatron snarled, as the yellow and black scout was dragged before him. Bumblebee was covered with dents, with wounds that dripped energon and eyes beginning to dull. "You gave a good chase, at least. Your precious Sam did almost as well, but there's no substitute like an Autobot for a challenge." _

"_What did you do to him?" the scout snarled, and shrieked when one of the guards kicked him viciously. _

"_Why, he's right here," Megatron said, and gestured towards Sam. "That's why I brought you here, so that you could see him in his new home. While I miss him as my pet, he is much more useful this way." _

_Bumblebee keened, collapsing to the floor. Megatron looked at him in savage satisfaction, enjoying the despair in the Autobot scout's voice and manner, before he lifted his arm and fired. "Clean up the mess," he ordered the guards. "Salvage the metal for sparkling protoforms." _

_Sam could only watch as the lifeless form was dragged away. Megatron came over and placed his massive hand possessively on the Cube that held his helpless awareness. _

Sam woke, heart pounding. Another nightmare, he told himself, even as the tears traced down his face. It's just another nightmare; settle down before someone comes to check on you. He wiped his face on the blanket. Fortunately, there was no one in the room, which was unusual even during the heavy day shift. He made it to the waste disposal, got some water, and managed to improvise a fairly comfortable seat by propping the sleeping pad into a corner. He took a blanket to the corner with him and wrapped it around him. Between the nightmares and lack of appetite, he was tired most of the time.

Razorclaw was limiting the colony foods to occasional snacks and treats now. Sam knew what the breeder was doing was reasonable from a slave master's view. Sooner or later the colony food would run out and there was no way to get more. None of the supervisors saw a problem. They all knew that their version of the All-Spark holder ate his ration like any other slave even when he could get wild food. As a result, none of them noticed that most of Sam's ration was landing in the waste container. The container incinerated what went into it, destroying the evidence.

He was not deliberately trying to starve, but with Megatron and on the ship, he not only did nothing to stimulate his appetite, he remembered much more satisfying food that either he gathered himself or got at the colony. Between the two, he simply could not stomach eating the ration.

"Hiding again? Come out where I can see you." Dead End walked over to the corner. He no longer used his alt form unless ordered, and was about eight feet tall. Sam sighed into the blanket but got up anyway. "When I get back to Earth, I'm going to get my old form back. I hate this one," the spy added.

"You were larger?" Sam asked. Dead End nodded and talked with longing about his larger form. When he wound down, Sam asked, "So what led to you being picked for spy work? "

While the question seemed casual, something in Sam's tone made Dead End cautious. "I got into some trouble," he said briefly.

"Sure you did," Sam hissed. The white-hot rage rising in him came out, and Dead End stared at him. "You were one of the mechs working with Swindle, you and Sideways. That's part of the reason Soundwave picked you, because you had some idea how to manipulate humans. I should have known when I saw Grant that it was the two of you tormenting him."

"How would you know about that?" Dead End said, trying for disdain. He gave himself away when he looked behind him.

"I was there," Sam said.

This life he woke in a heavily wooded mountainous area. In several ways he was lucky. There was no problem finding water, and both fish, game, and gathering was good. He found the remnants of a town, which rendered some knives, glass, and other bits and pieces he could use to make his life a little easier. He found a cave and settled down to freedom, with no way of knowing how long it would last.

Seasons and years passed, and he made the cave comfortable. He normally ranged in the direction of the old town because it was easier. Then one day, going in the other direction to make a change in his trapping range, he noticed lights and noise from a distance. For a time he took care to stay close to the cave, but the noise and lights never came closer. After a time, his curiosity took over, and he investigated.

He set off some alarms and bolted for cover. Luck was with him; the 'con that investigated startled a deer, snorted, and shot it. "Damned wildlife's always setting off the alarms," he complained, picked up the carcass, and tossed it out of sight. By this time Sam managed to get past him. The 'con stomped off, and Sam followed, not seen in the underbrush. Soon he was following a smell that was familiar and frightening at the same time. They were in the middle of nowhere, no mines, no factories, no farms-so why did he smell unwashed human bodies?

That was when he found the cages, and in the center of the cages, a fighting ring. There were men inside the cages, and two men in the ring, sparring with a 'con. After a time, the 'con threw them back into cages and released another set, to begin again. The 'con was brutal in his instruction, giving shocks and bruises that hurt but did not do serious damage for corrections. Sam melted back into the woods. The caged men did not have collars, though he could see the white collar scars on their necks.

Some time later, the teaching Cons brought food and water to the cages and left. Sam managed to get closer, and listened to the men's talk. "We'll never get out," one of them said. "No matter what they tell us, we're only going to fight until we die." He snorted bitterly. "We should have known better than to believe we would be free when the master said he would take off our collars."

"We don't know if some of the others managed to get away," one said uncertainly. "One of the men I worked with knew an abandoned kid who learned to survive in the wild. " The unknown man was referring to him, Sam realized. How odd, to hear that you're a rumor. "The masters would never admit one of us got away from them."

"Ha. Doubt that. You notice the ones they hunt are the ones that are too hurt to keep fighting? I want a chance to score on one of the masters, just once," another said bitterly. "That would be worth dying for." The sound of metal footsteps approached. Sam retreated back into the trees. He could hear the trainers with a third Decepticon, evaluating the men in the cages. Then they came around to the back of the cages, close enough that Sam could hear them. He was nested deep in the underbrush, and his clothes blended.

"All right, which ones will give the best show?" he asked. "We need one set that's closely matched, one that looks closely matched but has a clear winner, and one where they look uneven but the one that's most likely to win looks like a loser. "

They settled the matter, and one of the trainers said, "Have you got a big enough bunch to make it worth using that many, Swindle? If some of them die, you'll need more fighters and we need time to train them."

Swindle snorted. "What, Sideways, you think that's a problem? I have a hook on several young ones that were recently sent to the mines. Bonecrusher's in on this, for a share of the profits. He knows how to fake the reports on how many of the slaves that go into the mine die. It's not the mines that kill half of them; it's the entertainment he uses them for. If Lord Megaton had any idea how many slaves that slagger kills a year, he'd have done something long ago."

"That's not the problem," the other trainer grumbled. "The slaves have to be goaded to fight at all. The feral humans were the ones that were good. They knew how to fight! They hated us, and they gave a good show without us having to do anything. Nowadays we have to deal with all the pap the supervisors din into them constantly about working with each other and how their labor is in return for the care and protections the masters give them so they should never fight."

"Don't give me that, Dead End," Swindle said. "You loved goading them. Besides, after a few months in Bonecrusher' mines, they learn to hate fast enough."

"Not in all of the mines," Sideways said. "The ones that came in the last few waves believe that mess about protection, too. They never saw the feral humans. Some of them told me that they get a lot better work out of their slaves if they give them more food and look out for them, enough that they've gotten commendations for increased production. "

"Yeah, boss," Dead End agreed. "We'll be slag if word goes too high. You know the rules about slaves learning to fight."

"Hah, that's to keep them in line in the settlements," Swindle told them. "They don't get weapons here. These puny things could never be a threat to us without those weapons the Autobots gave them."

We'll see about that, Sam thought grimly. He looked at the cages and nodded to himself, as the Decepticons left, talking about the crowd they expected.

That night, a crowd did appear, in ones and twos, and Sam discovered that the security alarms were off for the duration. He waited until the fights started before beginning his explorations. The locks for the cages were electronic. The security was designed to keep animals out, not anyone with intelligence. He managed to find the security center. By the time the third fight was over, Sam was out of the compound.

For the first time in a long time, he had a chance to free some slaves, and he intended to do so.

He spent weeks storing up food and gathering the means to act. The food gathering was not too hard; it was spring, when a lot of dandelions and other greens became available. The museum town held a few homesteads where residents used to have gardens and there were areas where food plants still grew, part of the wild now. He would have loved to grow a garden , but that was like putting up a sign saying, "Free human here!" to a patrol. His traps filled with young and stupid animals. He worked up his old pit traps and got a few large animals. While he was preserving the meat, he started getting a few other materials together. When he was finished, he headed for the compound, carrying a load, including some carefully designed live traps.

A curse rang out at the compound a few days later. Dead End whined, "Swindle is going to slag us at this rate. There's all these little insects getting into the security setup and I'm having to replace parts as fast as I set them!"

"Yeah, and when the security was down, some of those little gray animals and a few of the brown stripped ones got in the wiring for the lights and the electronic locks. I have to reroute everything. Where are these things coming from?" Sideways grumbled. "Not to mention that we haven't trained any of those new kids yet, and half the old ones are injured and can't manage a good fight. I'll get word to Swindle. A few of the injured ones might be good enough for a hunt."

Hunt? That made Sam's blood run cold. He could not help remembering the times he had been hunted. How many times with the Resistance had he led the Decepticons in chases, some of them far too close for comfort? The last as a Resistance fight he had the last of the effective explosives and the knowledge of the long, agonizing death to look forward to. In the end, fuel almost gone, he led them into a blind canyon and blew the load, taking the most relentless of his pursuers to oblivion with him. His death was the end of the effective Resistance. Slavery was already in place over the rest of the remaining humans. Most of them never knew any other life.

In his last life, the patrol that found his fire tracked him relentlessly, but never fired on him. Finally he followed a stream with trees on both banks. It was summer, and he grabbed berries as he found them, gulped water as when he paused to void, and kept going for two grueling days before he came out in a meadow, to find one Decepticon in front of him and another behind. With all hope of escape gone, he crumbled, too exhausted to struggle when one of them picked him up and said, "All this for a youngling?" They took him to the farm run by Shrapnel, certain that he was an abandoned slave due to his inability to talk.

But the free human was sure this hunt was along the lines of old human fox hunts and other safari hunting- a sport. There would be only one ending to that kind of hunt. He had seen that kind of hunting when the Resistance was still going, and he knew what the favorite quarry of a Decepticon hunt was- a feral human who knew the woods and/or had some fighting skills, enough to make them a challenge. And he knew that the ending was a red smear of blood on the ground, through if the quarry gave a good hunt, they would make the kill mercifully quick.

Sam stole food and clothes again, got out the way he came in, and left. He found several freshly dead carcasses outside the invisible boundary, and took as many as he could carry. When he got to his cave, he dressed the meat, set some cooking and some to be preserved After several dangerous visits, he had his plan mapped out. He made sure his best knife was sharp. That was his quickest escape if he needed it.

Swindle did decide on the hunt, and chose the one who would be the quarry. The rest of the fighters endured their training and were put in their cages. The trainers brought the slave out and gave him water, food, and two hours to hide. The Decepticons who were in the hunt were watching him hungrily as he ran off.

"We'll just need to follow his scent," one said. "This won't be long. Not like when we had the feral humans. Sometimes one of them could even get away. This stupid slave doesn't stand a chance." Two hours passed and the bets were all called. Ten Decepticons headed for the woods. The trainers and Swindle were scattered around the edges of the area the slave was thought to be able to cover in the two hours he had to run, ready to confirm a sighting and kill.

An hour passed, then two, then three, and there were no calls. Then there was one triumphant call," I've sighted him! He went to ground in a cave. I'm leaving the line open." Dead End rushed out, just in time to see the hunter reach into the cave. He, too, could see the flutter of cloth. But what the hunter drew out was not the slave. "What the hell is this!" shrieked the hunter, as four sets of claws and a set of teeth attacked his hand. One claw slipped into a groove in his armor, and wires came out with it. The hunter threw it down and fired, but missed, and the large black animal threw itself at his leg, scratching and clawing. "Get it off! Get it off!"

Another com went off. "I just stepped in some kind of hole and got a splinter in my foot armor," another hunter complained, pulling his foot out of Sam's pit trap.

"I can't find the scent! Some kind of small black and white animal followed him and now I can only get that scent!"

"I thought I saw him but only a bunch of four-legged herd animals were here!"

"I just got gashes from a large wild feline! It's going to take forever to get this buffed and painted!"

It was one of the worst hunts they ever conducted. After eight hours, there were still no signs of the slave. The hunt dwindled away, with the hunters leaving to get back to their duties, grumbling. Swindle and the trainers kept looking, and found nothing. Worse, when they got back to the camp, they discovered that all of the slaves were gone, with most of the food and clothing. Every kind of wire that existed was slashed, the circuitry was splashed with water and debris, and generally any damage that could be done was done. The place crawled with animals, drawn by scattered lumps of stuff they were eating with relish.

"Wait until I get my hands on the ones who did this," Swindle snarled. "Someone's setting himself up as a rival, that's clear."

"No," Sideways said firmly. "This is the work of humans. We've got a feral human here. No slave could do this, but none of us would have left anything. Besides, we would have heard them!"

"Or a spy," Dead End said. "One of the humans that went with the Autobots, here to spy. That's the answer."

"I don't care if it's the Fallen himself come back from the dead," Swindle snarled. "Whoever did this is going to pay!"

Back in his cave, Sam watched the ten slaves he just rescued finish eating the vegetable stew he had left on the hearth. He flavored it with fat and some pieces of jerky. He knew how the slave would react to meat, but the jerky looked nothing like an animal and they thought it was some kind of root.

Getting them here was hard enough. Several times he thought he was going to have to abandon one of them to the hunt, because they spooked at anything, certain that some kind of wild animal was going to jump out and kill them at any time. But luck was with them- luck, and the wild chases after the pieces of clothes that he left in areas.

All he had to do was appear to Brick to be followed. Sam led him to a live trap with a skunk in it. He left bits of meat behind them, and the skunk followed happily, eating the offerings. After that, they walked through the nearby stream which got them to the cave. Then Sam doubled around the hunt and got the other slaves. He opened the cages before he destroyed the electronics, but he thought the Decepticons would come back before the slaves were done tearing the place up. They then gathered every bit of food and useful equipment they could carry and followed him back to the cave.

Sam knew they could not stay here. Sooner or later the trainers or Swindle would find them, unless some kind of authority found Swindle first, which Sam reckoned was as likely as seeing a pig fly or Optimus Prime rise again. He had enough skins to make footwear for the slaves, and he could make a strong-smelling wash that would cover their scent with some effectiveness. He figured his best bet was to lead them further into the mountains, where the patrols seldom went, and train them in survival. There was a set of caverns not too very far from here, reachable by trails left of old roads. There would be water, fish, and plenty of room. The caverns would be hard for any Decepticons to get into, and there were several openings. Thank God it's early summer, he thought. We won't die of exposure.

The slaves looked at him. "Hey, why don't you talk?" Brick asked. Sam tilted back his neck and pointed to the scar on his throat. "Primus, that's terrible. Did the masters do that?" Sam shook his head. "So what are we going to do next? Can we stay here?" Sam shook his head and then knelt to draw in the dirt of the cave near the fire. He drew a picture of the group going into the mountains while the masters looked the other way. They all nodded. Then he showed them how to bank the fire and went to bed.

In the morning one of the younger slaves approached him. "Ah, White Hair?" Sam nodded. "Shouldn't we try to find some masters to stop these? They're going to take more slaves." He twisted his foot into the dirt. Behind Sam, Cowlick, named for the shock of hair that never smoothed down, snorted.

"Kid, the only think we're ever going to get from a master, ever again, is a shot in the head. That's if they're feeling merciful. If we stay with White, we might live for a while. Now come on." Sam patted Kid on the shoulder. They distributed the necessities into improvised burdens tied with skins and followed Sam to the abandoned town. There Sam showed them where the edible plants were and they gathered as Sam foraged for any kinds of weapons. In the end, everyone had some kind of knife, though some of them were poor. Then he led them to the cave the bear had been in. He showed them how to kindle a fire with the steel in their knives and the right kind of rock.

They made steady progress. Sam took the time to look over the various damage the fighters had. Most of it was healing wounds, but Brick had one that was getting infected. Sam dressed it, but the infection was getting worse despite what he could do. When they heard Decepticons coming, cursing and saying what they would do to any slaves they saw, Brick looked at Sam and said, "Thank you for your help. I know what to do." He made a motion at his throat with his knife. "Get them away." Then he ran in the opposite direction. Sam cursed inwardly, but gestured to the others to follow him, and moved to a swift trot. They followed, frightened by the noise of the masters cursing and going after Brick. This time they did not stop until they could not see anymore. They huddled near each other, ate the food Sam handed them, and slept uneasily.

At first light he led them to a stream, where they gulped water and voided, hiding the scent as Sam showed them. Then they followed the stream, still heading in the right direction. Sam kept them at a steady pace, thanking all the deities he knew that they were used to working all day and had no trouble keeping the pace he made. They made it through that day without any losses. They found a few patches of berries that Sam gathered. There were some bug bites, but they were used to that, as well. Sam began to feel some hope. They settled down again.

But the Decepticons did not need light. Sounds woke Sam and one of the other fighters. Twitch was wounded and was straggling at the end of the line. He gripped Sam's arm. "I'm glad I got a chance to hurt their game, at least," he said, and was gone before Sam could stop him. Sam thought he would have to wake the others and scatter them, hoping to catch one or two again later, when a herd of deer came crashing past them, with Dead End behind. Sam breathed a sigh of relief- Dead End had the heat signatures, but the deer crossed their path and he went after them instead.

Light came, and Sam once again woke the group and distributed food. They kept going, but late in the morning, there was the sound of shouting. Swindle, Sam thought. He kept them going, anyway; their only chance lay in finding a spot to go to ground. "I know you're here somewhere," Swindle shouted. "I don't know who's herding you, but you can bet they'll regret it. The one who gives up and tells me what's going on will live. You understand? Otherwise you'll go back and I'll let my clients get their money's worth seeing how long it takes them to hit a target- you! Or how long you can live with one bone broken at a time!" The slaves were trembling with fear.

"What's going on here?" On one side of the stream, three Decepticon with glyphs on their shoulders showed up. Four of the younger slaves shrieked joyfully and bolted to what they saw as safety. The older slaves assumed the submissive posture. Sam immediately melted back into the woods. One of the patrol knelt down. "Slow down, younglings, slow down. You, tell me what's going on." He pointed at Kid, who babbled the story as fast as he could. Then the patrol 'con turned to the older slaves. "Is this true? You were being taught to fight?"

"Yes, master. The ones called-"

Shots rang out. Where the older slaves once stood was now a pile of mutilated bodies. Immediately the patrol fired back, putting the younger slaves, now screaming hysterically, behind him as his partners went after Swindle and the others. Sam hunched against a bunch of trees, the best protection he could find. The patrol 'con was already making a report. When there were no more shots, the 'con told the slaves to show him what was in the bundles.

Sam decided he would head for the caverns, because those kids were sure to tell the patrol everything they knew. Now that the crashing stopped, he ventured out of the trees. A large hand scooped him up. He struggled wildly. "Hey, there's no need for that! Settle down." The hand tightened. For a time Sam struggled harder, but he had to stop and breathe. "Primus, this one really is wild! I'm not going to hurt you, youngling." Sam realized that this was one of the patrol 'cons that went after Swindle and the others.

After talking to the remaining slaves, who were pathetically grateful to find protective masters, the patrol had Sam take them to the compound. Sam cooperated, wanting to make sure Swindle was shut down. When they arrived they found Sideways trying to remove any trace of its existence. They subdued him quickly and put him in stasis. Dead End was already in stasis and a general watch was out for Swindle.

Sam slipped off during the fight, but it did not take long enough and they tracked him down before he managed to get far. One of the patrol wanted to use a leash. "Don't be a fool," the kinder one rebuked him. "Put anything but a collar around a slave's neck, and soon you'll have one that can't work., and that's if you don't kill him." They put him in a cage instead. Sam knew the locks were still disabled, and got out as soon as they were out of sight. This time he did not get out of the compound before they picked him up again.

"You need a collar and training in the worst way," they said. "And those clothes stink!" They made him wash and put on a set of the normal slave clothes. Then they put a leash around his waist and took turns keeping an eye on him until the transport appeared two days later, with another patrol to track down Swindle. The supervisor from the nearest facility, a factory, brought collars for all of them.

"This one's never had a collar," he declared, looking Sam over. "Primus, look at that scar. He got abandoned young, looks like. He must be a really bright one, to live this long in the wild. I know of a school that trains for the energon plants. I'll take him there."

The patrol considered. "Fine," they said. "Without him, we'd never have found out about this whole slag heap."

Back on the ship, Dead End said, "So you were the one who got the slaves loose," with a mix of anger and fear.

"And you were the one that killed the fighters you trained," Sam said. Unseen by either of them, a group gathered in the room, consisting of the captain, Razorclaw, Watts, and Decibel. They were staring. This was not the Master's pet; this was a soldier, hard and focused. Sam's eyes flickered behind Dead End, and he suddenly calmed. "Though I should thank you for the warning you left the colony."

"Warning?" Dead End said. "I did no such thing."

"Sure you did. When you dressed Grant in those slave clothes, put a collar on him, and beat him, leaving marks. That was a warning to the entire colony of exactly what they could expect from the Decepticons. I told them, but there's nothing like a visual aid. "He leaned hard against the bars, and his expression made the mechanical voice sound ice cold. " Grant was a civilian, the associate to the colony diplomat to Lord Megatron, and one of the Lennox family. "

"So?" Dead End bluffed.

"First, the Lennox family is screaming for vengeance for one of their own that was not a soldier. That family produced most of the soldiers that fought Lord Megatron to a standstill at the battle with the Alliance, giving Rodimus Prime and the Psyches the chance to kill the Fallen. Second, there is not one person on that colony that will ever trust a Decepticon ever again. Most adults on that station are parents. They'll destroy the colony before they see their children in collars, cages, or chains. Third, Ironhide will hunt you down and crush you like he crushed Cykill for killing one of his own after what they see as torture. " He smiled, and the expression was pure malice. "I didn't need to say a word. You did all that with just one visual aid. Oh, and believe me, by this time Lord Megatron is well aware of the results. My lord is a master politician. He understands just how effective that visual aid was. "

The whine of a weapon charging was loud in the dead silence that followed, as was the sound of a transform. Sam did not flinch when Dead End aimed the weapon at him. There was a shot. Sam swayed as Dead End dropped. "Damn," he grumbled. "Thought I was out of my misery, " and went to his knees, sagging against the bars. He was light-headed now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

"Does Lord Megatron know what he's kept next to him all this time?" the captain wondered out loud. He transformed his arm from the weapon back to normal.

Sam made the static-like sound that was his laugh. "Let me quote, 'I claim you now as my own, as a living reminder of what humans used to be and never will be again,' unquote. Yes, he knew exactly what and who I was. That was why he exiled me from my own kind."

A/N: Can you tell what the grey and stripped animals are, or the black animal?


	7. Decibel

I do not own Transformers; I only play with the characters. Please let me know how I'd doing. Suggestions or ideas are welcome.

Decibel

The end result of Sam's deliberate provocation of Dead End was a sore throat and tighter restrictions.

At first Razorclaw rushed to the cage and pulled Sam out, alarmed by his collapse. Sam did not protest and was limp in his hands, exhausted by his emotional outburst. When the breeder was sure Sam was not bleeding, he administered a tranquillizer shot. Sam fell asleep as the breeder was demanding an explanation. Deeply disturbed now, he stripped Sam, looking for signs of infection, and realized that the Master's pet had lost weight. As he was providing Sam with the normal slave ration and snacks, he knew Sam should have been gaining, not losing.

Sam woke to a sore throat and padded chains. "If you do not want to be fed with a tube down your throat for the rest of this trip," Razorclaw told him, "you will explain what happened with Dead End." Sam told of his history with Dead End. All of the supervisors and the captain were in the room, listening.

"Well, I still need Dead End, and you will not provoke him again," Razorclaw told him flatly. All the supervisors who saw Sam confronting the spy were shaken. They were only dimly aware of Sam's early lives and that he had been a soldier. None of them could imagine that the slave they knew was capable of the kind of rage Sam exhibited.

"You mean he's still alive? I thought somebody shot him," Sam said. He managed to maneuver himself into a sitting position. When he almost fell back, Decibel circled the table and put a hand behind him for support.

"The captain hit him where he'd go into stasis, and he's already repaired and reprimanded." Razorclaw informed the disappointed human. "One of us will supervise him when he goes near you." He glared at his charge. "Primus, your processor was shorting! Did you want him to shoot you?"

"I wanted him to look bad in front of the rest of you," Sam admitted. "I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to shoot me with so many of you in the room." It would have been a nice bonus, he thought, but he managed not to voice that. His ability to lie to these particular mechs was limited when he was in full control of himself. It was easier to tell part of the truth and stop.

Off the drugs, he could simply not talk, keeping his responses to his thoughts as he had to when he was mute. As accustomed to his disability as they were, they did not question his silence. When he needed to lie, he took his time responding. All wise slaves did the same, so they expected that response as well. On the drugs, his mouth tended to move before his brain engaged fully. For that reason, they saved the questions they knew he did not want to answer for when he was tranked. Maybe, he mused when he was more clearheaded, they liked dealing with an intelligent, educated human they could be totally honest with.

"So all that about the visual aid was so much scrap?" Shrapnel asked.

"No," Sam said. "All of it was true, except Ironhide said he would wait until Rodimus questioned the fool who killed Grant next time. Rodimus complained that it was hard to question a corpse and besides that he wanted to get a kick in too."

He could have kicked himself when he saw the dismay on their faces. "Oh," Shrapnel said uncomfortably. "What did you mean when you said you thought you were out of your misery?"

"Just an expression," Sam said. His head was clearing just a little, and he did not like where the conversation was going. "I need to void." His waste disposal was in his cage. Decibel carried him off, with Sam resting against his shoulder.

Sam did what he needed to, hampered by the chains, and got a drink of water to sooth his sore throat. Decibel waited until he was finished. "Dead End said that he put Grant out of his misery," the factory manager said slowly. "It's the same as a mercy killing, isn't it?"

Sam looked away. "Yes," he said, "but I wasn't lying. I didn't think he would shoot me until he was aiming the weapon." Decibel nodded with relief.

"Oh?" Razorclaw asked from the door. "And I suppose that you didn't stop eating to harm yourself?"

"I don't have to stop eating to hurt myself," Sam snapped before he thought. "I've always had Decepticons for that."

Decibel said, "That wasn't fair, White," in a quiet, disappointed tone. To the breeder's astonishment, Sam wilted and muttered an apology. "That's better," he said, and stroked Sam's hair. "What was wrong? I've seen you eat the ration before, we all have."

Sam relaxed under the gentle hand and said, "I'm not working here like I did with you and the others. It was the same with Lord Megatron. He said I was too thin and used to check my supplies. I don't get hungry, and after what I could get at the station," he shrugged.

"All right," Razorclaw said, somewhat mollified. He had seen some of the carrying females with this kind of problem after a birth. They tended to be more obvious about the problem because they wept a lot. Sam's eyes seldom leaked where anyone could see him, but the other signs- not wanting to eat, emotional outbursts, sometimes even attempts to harm themselves- those were the same with the females who got sad after a birth, especially when a child was born dead. He could handle matters now that he understood the problem. "From now on someone will stay with you until you've eaten most of what you're given. After you eat, they'll have the option of giving you a treat from the colony foods we have. Understood?' Sam agreed. "Have you ever deliberately harmed yourself?' he asked, curious.

Sam did not respond, but his eyes flicked to Decibel and back to Razorclaw before he busied himself rinsing and putting away his cup. Decibel frowned. "White," he reproved. "And don't tell me White died-"He stopped as he remembered how White had died. "That last day, at the saws," he said. "Was that a mistake?" The chained human in the cage shook his head, slowly, not looking up from the water dispenser. "Why?"

He thought back to White's time with him. White was one of his favorites, but he treated all his slaves well. Why would White deliberately put an end to the already short life slaves had?

TRTRTR

"What in Primus' name have you done to this poor youngling?" Decibel asked, looking at the filthy human the patrol shoved in front of him. The human pain no attention to his rant, having spied the water barrel. He limped over as quickly as he could and began drinking from his hands. Decibel hastily dipped a bucket and gave him that. The young male did not object, only continuing to drink.

"We found him out in the wild, about five days from here," one of them said. "He won't talk to us. We couldn't find out why he was out there all by himself. And he kept trying to get away from us. "

"Did it occur to you that he was trying to get water or food?" Decibel asked. "Stop, youngling, stop, you'll get sick." He pried the young male from the water. "What did you do, drag him behind you?" He stripped off the harness and inspected what was underneath, but there was too much dirt and plant debris. "Cook!" An older human bustled out of one of the buildings. "Take care of this one until I'm done here."

"Yes, master. Come along," Cook helped the youngling up and when he saw the limp, put a supporting arm around him. They disappeared into the building.

"I'm telling you," the leader said, irritated, "he kept getting away from us. We couldn't turn our backs and he was heading back into the damned trees. Besides, we let him get a drink when we passed places with water. He couldn't keep up, and we had to carry him most of the time. You were the closest with humans, so we brought him to you."

Decibel huffed. "The only younglings I get are flawed and here because they can't do anything else," he pointed out. "That looks like a healthy strong boy. Why didn't you take him to a farm? Never mind, by the time you idiots made it to a farm, he'd be dead. It's a wonder he's alive now. You can spend the night in the barracks and refuel if you need to," he added grudgingly. About half of the patrols would have used the boy for target practice. As poor a job as they had done, at least they did bring him in. He headed for the kitchen.

At first he thought Cook was alone, before he saw the blanket with a lump underneath it that moved up and down steadily. Cook had let the boy lay down on the sacks of the morning ration, which was a kind of mush. "That youngster was worn down, Master," the dark-skinned slave said. "Never said a word, but he heard me just fine. He washed down without a fuss here at the sink. Brave little fella, too, he never whined when I put the cleaning fluid on those scratches. "

"Good. Did you feed him?" Decibel headed over to the blanket and pulled it back gently. The boy stirred but did not wake. The first thing he noticed was the white hair. The boy's skin was white where not exposed regularly to the sun, and otherwise a tan color. He did have a lot of scratches, mostly on his legs and arms, and his left ankle was mildly swollen. He was thin, but his muscles indicated that he was used to hard work. There was no sign of a collar mark on his neck, but there was a white scar on his throat.

"Yes, master, but not much. I didn't want him to sick it up."

"Good. Keep an eye on him for just a little longer, and I'll get him some clothes and a collar." He returned to find the boy still asleep. He wanted to curse that patrol. Just how hard had they pushed this boy to leave him in such a state? He stroked the boy's white hair, noting that it was thick and healthy. "Wake up, youngling," he said gently. The boy cringed.

"It's all right, boy, that's our master Decibel, no need to be scared of him," Cook said from the sink where he was pumping and pouring water into pans to boil the ration for the evening meal. The boy pushed himself up and took the offered clothes, dressing as he was ordered. Cook came over and bound the ankle with the bandage the master brought.

Decibel noticed that the boy made no sound at all. Taking the collar, he asked, "Do you know what this is?" The boy nodded. "Speak up," Decibel ordered, as exasperated as the patrol was by this time. The boy tilted his head back, touched the scar on his throat, and moved his mouth. Then he shook his head. "You can't talk?" the Decepticon asked, and the boy nodded, lowering his eyes.

"You'll fit right in here, then," Cook said. "A bunch of the humans here are flawed." The boy looked at him before turning back to Decibel, his expression questioning.

"That's right. The machines at the factory make a lot of noise, so we take the humans who can't hear and train them to do the work. We use a hand language. Now look up." He put the collar on. "This one is modified for the factory. If you feel this," he sent the signal, and the boy jumped a little at the vibration, "you know that one of the masters wants your attention, and you take the proper position. Do you know what that is?' The boy slid to his feet and positioned himself with his hands at his sides and his head down. Decibel tapped his shoulder and the boy looked up. "Good. Come."

"What'll we call him, Master?" Cook asked, as he heaved the water to the stove.

"For the hair, I think," he said. "You're White." Then he made a gesture. White repeated it and pointed at himself. "Yes, that's you. Very good."

The factory had about a hundred and fifty slaves working two different buildings. One building held the cutting equipment and prepared the pieces for furniture and other products made from wood. The other building completed the products and set them up for shipping. The saws made a lot of noise and deafened the slaves that worked them over time. Gradually, Decibel acquired slaves who were deafened by illness and misfortune, and trained them on the saws. It was dangerous work and accidents happened at least once a month. At the same time, flawed slaves were normally either killed, if the masters who dealt with them were merciful, or abused in various ways if they were not. The factory, despite the high accident rate, was kinder than the alternatives.

One of his personally trained supervisors took messages from other places and examined slaves for the factory. The slaves who worked the saws had their own supervisors under Decibel, their own quarters and their own language. A hearing person would see only hand gestures, but Decibel knew that body language and expressions were part of it, too. The language was limited, but the slaves who arrived loved it, as they had almost no way to communicate otherwise.

All new slaves had two weeks of lessons: language, safety, and rules. Decibel came to see White after a week. He found his new slave working with one of the night supervisors, and buzzed him. Acoustic looked up when White positioned himself. "I've never had any slave pick up on the gestures so fast," Acoustic said as Decibel approached. Decibel gave White the tap to look up.

:Greeting Master: White gestured, and dipped his head in respect.

"Good, White," the factory manager said approvingly. "And on the work?"

"No problems at all there. He's learned the safety rules already, and most of the ground rules. I'm going to start him on the saws soon." They traded a look. One of the lessons that was the hardest to explain was coming up. "It'll be easier since he can hear. "

"Let me know when it's time," Decibel said, but he never had to give that explanation. The next day, Decibel was on the floor making his rounds when he heard a whining noise he recognized. Looking over, he could see that Nip had not blocked the saw right, and it was beginning to wobble. He moved, seeing the wobble get wider and wider, until the saw was about to come off and take the slave's arm with it.

Then Nip fell back, letting go of the handle, and the saw ground to a halt. Decibel saw White let go of Nip just as both he and Acoustic got there. Nip gestured angrily at White, who only pointed at the saw. Nip looked, and his expression of horror showed he understood what almost happened. He turned and gestured an apology to White. Acoustic stepped up and gestured: Tell White possible :

Nip swallowed and drew a hand over his arm, then a mime of gushing blood. Acoustic made a rolling gesture, telling him to go on. Nip's eyes leaked and he slashed a hand across his throat. To their surprise, White put an arm around Nip's shoulder and gave him a brief squeeze. Nip knuckled his eyes and gave White a grateful look. Acoustic and Decibel shared a glance, and Decibel drew White outside as the supervisor and Nip started repairing the saw.

"Do you understand what would have happened to Nip?" Decibel asked. White looked at him thoughtfully. He repeated the gesture of the saw cutting the arm, and gestured :Slow. : Then he gestured across his throat, and gestured :Quick.:

"Good," he said slowly. He was shocked. Most slaves had trouble with the idea of the mercy kill, but White grasped it immediately. Cuts of anything higher than a finger ended in death, quick from blood loss or slow from the rot slaves got in wounds. There was almost no work a maimed slave could do, if they did survive. "I have to wonder what you've seen, youngling," he said. White looked up at him, and Decibel was disturbed at the age in the eyes that were in that young face. "Pay attention to the safety rules and you'll be all right," he said, knowing that he was lying. Even with the rules, accidents happened. The puzzling slave only nodded. White went on the saws in another week. Decibel saw him on the floor with the other slaves but thought nothing more of him.

One evening a few months later, Decibel was coming out of the administration building, heading for energon and recharge, when he saw a slave slip out of the barracks. There was only moonlight to see by, and most slaves were afraid of the dark. Decibel followed, through the bushes and up a hill that overlooked the woods and the fields past them. There was a mist rising, and the moonlight lit it. The slave just sat, curling with his arms around his legs, and looked out. Keeping back and staying quiet, Decibel waited, but after a time the slave got up and headed back to the barracks, slipping in as quietly as he came out. In one flash of moonlight, Decibel saw the white hair and knew who the slave was.

A week later, White had his first accident. A large slice of wood bounced off the piece he was working on and gashed his shoulder. Acoustic reported it routinely. "Cook's dealing with it," he added. Decibel went to check. By the time he got there, Cook was taking the last stitch. He swabbed it with the cleaning fluid and White silently yelped. "Come back every day until we know it's not going to rot," the cook told White. "Now go lie down until dinner."

Decibel saw White slip out again a week later and once again followed. It was a lovely clear night and White looked up at the stars for a long time before getting up to go back. Decibel stepped out where White could see him. "Come," he said. White followed him back to the office. "Let me look at your arm," he said. The wound was healing cleanly. "Why do you go to the hill?"

White gestured, :Quiet. Pretty.: He hesitated. :Alone:

"Does anyone else go out?" Decibel asked. White indicated that he did not see anyone else. "Good. I don't mind if you go out once in a while, but if it becomes a problem, I'll put a stop to it." White nodded.

Over the years, Decibel watched as White became something of a leader with the flawed slaves. He lost part of one finger after two years, and another after five. He suggested several ways to prevent accidents, and the incidents slowed to once every two or three months. Decibel found White on the hilltop every few weeks and shared the peace and quiet of the stars and moonlight. Sometimes, in summer, they would watch a sunset instead.

The flawed slaves Decibel got tended to be young ones from the farms who would not normally be bred. The other workers were from the mines, and were already bred. Decibel was stunned to get a message from Razorclaw that he would like to examine the flawed slaves for breeding. "But they're flawed!" he protested. "That's why they came here. Most of them can't hear at all. They wouldn't last a year in the mines!"

"I don't have to send them to the mines if they're flawed," the breeder told him, exasperated. "I've found that the slaves who are flawed due to an injury are being excluded from breeding when most of the time there's no reason. We need to breed any capable slave unless they have a birth flaw."

"All right," Decibel said dubiously. "I'll send you the records I have on the slaves, and you can decide if it's worth the time to appear." He sent the records, and expected to hear no more about the matter. To his surprise, the breeder wanted to examine about half of the flawed slaves, and sent a time for the first set of exams.

Thereafter, about every six months, a breeder appeared to do examinations. Decibel set them up in rotations, so each section was not overwhelmed. He had White on the top of the list. White was strong, intelligent, and stable; they certainly needed to breed him. However, when White's name did not appear on the list to be bred, he shrugged. Three months later, the slaves returned with mostly happy reports on their time at the breeding farm. After that, over the next two years, a set went out to do their breeding duty. Finally, Decibel got the list on the last twenty to be examined.

White's name was on the list. Decibel sent a message that White was already evaluated. Razorclaw contacted him. "That was an error," he said. "When I made the count, I found that he was never examined. I expect he was confused with someone else. I'll be doing the last set of examinations myself. "

"Good. I'd like to see White bred. He's one of my best." Decibel came out of the building in a good mood. This would be the last time he would have to send off so many of his slaves at the same time. After this set, Razorclaw would only send a breeder every few years to examine the newer slaves. He found White gesturing with some of the other slaves who had returned recently. They were discussing the breeding. "Your turn next, White, with the last few, and then we'll have the saws full again."

White made a query gesture and said :Seen, first time, said no: Decibel told him about the error. He expected White to be excited. Instead, his face fell. In fact, he looked almost sick. "Come with me," Decibel said. When they were in his office, he said, "I know all the slaves have been talking about the breeding, and most of them enjoyed themselves. What's wrong?"

:Scared: he admitted. :Leave, not come back:

"Everyone else has come back, White," Decibel said patiently. There was some panic after the first set left, when the older slaves told the flawed ones that once a slave went to breed they never came back to their first assignment. "Razorclaw's coming himself. He's a good master, fair as long as you do as asked."

:Not go: White asked, with a pleading look.

"No, you need to do this. It's a duty, but you know the others liked it. In fact, you'll have help. A supervisor's been going to help with every set, and Acoustic's going with yours. Don't worry, you'll be fine."

That night Decibel went to the hilltop. He had the habit of going almost every night now, just for the quiet. He found White there, leaking tears. Decibel could not remember a time when he saw White weeping, not even when he lost pieces of a finger. "White, little one, it will be all right. I know it's frightening leaving a place you know, but it's only for a time." He stroked his distressed slave's back, but when White pleaded again to be allowed to stay, he refused, patiently explaining again.

He met Razorclaw when the breeder arrived, and showed him the room the others used for the exams. He sent word to the supervisors to have the slaves in question sent over. The first few appeared and he did not see White. He contacted Acoustic. "I'll fetch him myself," the supervisor promised. "He was working on a tricky piece, though."

"Get him here as soon as you can."

"I just buzzed him. Should be just-Primus!"

Decibel moved, hurrying to the floor to White's section. Before he could reach it, he got the message. "White just took his hand off, he's spraying blood everywhere."

"Make it quick," he said heavily.

"Done," came the heavy confirmation. "Primus, after all this time, I guess we thought he'd never go this way."

He went to the hilltop one last time to remember White, and never again went back.

TRTR

"I was afraid Razorclaw would remember me," Sam said softly. "I was afraid of being experimented on because I was different." The two supervisors shifted uncomfortably, wanting to say that never happened and knowing it was a lie. Sometimes slaves were summoned by an administrator and no one wanted to ask questions.

"I would have," Razorclaw said. "You were too unique for me to forget." He was already working out a set of plans for stronger supervision of his important charge. Now that they knew Sam was capable of suicide, he wanted to be sure there would be no more incidents or opportunities.

"No wonder you were afraid," Decibel said slowly. "It makes some sense now. After all, you come back, don't you?"

Sam nodded. "Razorclaw would have had to report me, and I was much more afraid of being found out than I was of dying. By that time I knew I would come back." He snorted. "Only to be found by the one person who knew exactly who I was as soon as he looked at me. Life is full of ironies, isn't it?"


	8. The Mines

I do not own Transformers except in my daydreams.

Reviews and ideas are much appreciated. As I am also working on some original work now, it may be a while before this fanfiction is updated.

The Mines

"So much trouble over one small fleshling," the captain grumbled. Taking Dead End off the duty roster meant revisions, as did the need for the supervisors to spend more time with Sam.

"A fleshling that the Master values and who holds the All-Spark," Razorclaw reminded him.

"Beside which the human is good company," the captain noted, but this time there was some humor in his voice. Sam's meals were supervised. Razorclaw kept him on a lighter dose of the tranquillizers. The nightmares still came, but not every time he fell asleep alone. He was left in the cage for less than two hours at a time unless he was asleep. Dead End was taken off the supervision roster and put on standby for when Razorclaw needed him.

Sam did not admit it, but he felt better with the new regime. Once he regained his lost weight, he did not always eat his entire ration, but he did keep his weight steady. He started asking to see the screen from outside the cage when he knew he was going to be alone. Razorclaw considered. "You'll have to stay in the chains, and I'll attach the one on your waist to the cage."

"I can live with that," Sam told him. From then on, Sam spent some time daily sitting outside his cage, looking out at the screen. The chains clinked with every move he made, but he counted the weight a small price for the better view and being outside the bars.

Being outside the bars made him more accessible to the other crew members, and sometimes they would talk to the captive if he was in a receptive mood. He was not surprised when he was looking at the screen, wondering when he would see Earth, and heard someone coming to see him. This time it was the captain, who had a cube of energon.

Sam was wary of the captain, who was the most likely to question him about touchy matters. He wondered if it was coincidence that they were the only ones in the room. The captain sipped and looked down on him thoughtfully for a time. "I have a question for you," he said. "You said that Lord Megatron knew what you were, and that was why he exiled you from your own kind, but you also said you were a youngling when the battle with the All-Spark occurred. How would he know about your past? "

"Hook built my cage and the area I stayed in with I was with Lord Megatron," Sam said, "and he knew someone like me killed two of his unit." The captain wanted details, and Sam told the story.

"I think you're the only being living that lived through the entire war only on Earth, " the captain mused. "Strange, that."

"Depends on your point of view," Sam said. "There were two mechs who lived through it, but they were in stasis or dead for part of it. Jetfire was on Earth for centuries. He told me he watched human technology advance from sailing ships to airplanes. He went into stasis right after World War One. He wasn't found until Megatron returned to Earth after the battle of the Fallen."

"And the other? "the captain asked. "I'm assuming he was revived by the shard."

"Bonecrusher." Sam snarled the name. "He's probably killed more humans on Earth than any other Decepticon, with the possible exception of Starscream. " There was no mistaking the hate in his voice. "Lord Megatron didn't revive him until he was about to leave and needed to split his forces, so he missed out on a few decades of fighting.

The captain nodded. "But you said Bonecrusher might have killed as many humans as Megatron or Starscream. Why? "

"In the mines," Sam said. "Oh, he had a high death score before the war ended, but he's been running the mines for over a century now. He was the one who started using humans as slaves first, when most of the drones were destroyed and they didn't have the materials to make more."

"I've heard that Lord Megatron threatened to send Bonecrusher to the asteroids if he didn't lower the death rate in the mines," the captain said. "I wondered about that. Accidents are bad in mines, so the death rate of two in ten didn't seem so bad to me."

"That's what he was reporting, but someone looked at how many went into the mines and how many left. Two out of ten were killed by accidents. When the amount of humans who went into the mines and how many came out were tallied, the real numbers were four out of ten. So he's been killing four out of ten of all the male slaves, because all the male slaves on Earth spend a year in the mines."

The captain snorted. "And how would you know the death talley?"

The slaves always knew, Sam thought. "Lord Megatron investigated because he needed metal for the defense system. He was outraged by the waste, because breeding and training new slaves takes time and resources. He put someone else was in charge of the slaves, though he left Bonecrusher in charge of the mining operations. "

"And that did what kind of good?" the captain asked, skeptical. "Humans die easily. Everyone knows that."

"Production went up by almost half again what it was within a year, and the cost dropped by over half. Lord Megatron was pleased and promoted the slave overseer to Bonecrusher's superior. "Sam remembered that meeting. The accurate death rate went down to two in ten. Megatron had been impressed with drop in costs, even with the added expense of more food and safety measures. Sam was glad he took the risk of getting to the datapads and bringing that report up where Megatron could see. It had saved some serious human lives.

The captain sipped his energon, considering the captive before him. "I wouldn't have expected that," he admitted. "You must have heard a great deal at Lord Megatron's desk." Sam shrugged. "I'm sure that fool Rodimus Prime was glad to get such a prize as you. Too bad he didn't take better care of you."

Sam said nothing to that barb. Mulah, the Psyche he worked with both for therapy and for evaluation of the Earth situation, told him not to engage the Decepticons verbally if he could help it. They had literally centuries of experience in verbal abuse. Instead he said, "The four in ten was actually an improvement. Before anyone was watching, every human in the mines died, usually within a year."

"How would you know that?" the captain asked.

"I was there, at the beginning." Sam said. "My biggest failure as a Resistance fighter was that I didn't manage to kill him, though God and Primus know I tried."

The captain looked at the tiny human. Sam could see he was wondering what kind of threat a single human could be to a mech like Bonecrusher. "Tell me about that," he invited.

trtr

"Get over here, long-timer."

Chains clanked as the white haired slave obeyed. He moved at a steady pace, hampered by leg irons. When he reached the head overseer, he waited.

"Took your time, didn't you," Bonecrusher snarled, and the whip came down, knocking the slave to his knees. He made a soft sound, like a strained whine. "Look over there. Go in, get samples from the wall and the floor, and bring them back to me." Obediently, the slave got up and fetched his pick and bucket, heading for the hole in the shaft that the mine manager indicated.

"Hey, 'Crush," said the observer, here to see how the mines were run. "Why'd you call that one long-timer? I thought the fleshies didn't last that long, especially here."

"He's lasted longer than most of the rest of them," Bonecrusher grunted. "When he comes back, I'll show you how to tell."

The slave made his way out of the small opening and brought the filled bucket to Bonecrusher. He waited, keeping his eyes down. "Look at him and tell me what's different."

The observer knelt and studied the human. Like all the slaves, he wore pants of a thick cloth, but nothing above the waist. He was covered with dirt from the mine; where he was not dirty, his skin was dead white except for red marks of small wounds or brown marks over most of his back. "Look at the hands and legs," the head overseer instructed. The slave had thick calluses over his lower legs and ankles where the shackles rubbed, almost as thick as the ones on his hands where he welded his pick and shovel. He noted a scar at the slave's throat. He was heavily muscled. "Get back to work." The slave moved off, hurried by a light flick of the whip.

"So the thick skin of the hand and where the chains rub show how long he's been here?" the observer asked. "What about the white hair and how he took your correction?"

"He had the white hair when we found him. He can't talk, can't scream. That whine's the only sound he makes. Not that he needs it much anymore, trained like I've got him, " Bonecrusher admitted, "but I make sure all of them know who their masters are periodically." He walked down the shaft. Most of the humans were working in the side shafts, where the mechs could not work. The lines of full containers bore mute testimony to their industry. "He's lived a solar cycle here, which is longer than the older ones lasted. We've found that the younger they are, the longer they last, as long as they're full grown." They were out of the shaft now. The mountain towered over them. The plants in the area were becoming green. "There's a place not far from here full of humans about his age. We pick up a few at a time as we need them."

"How do you feed them?" the observer asked as they walked.

Bonecrusher admitted that was a problem at first, until they discovered a set of farming communities in a valley to the south. "Breakdown didn't like the work here and made a deal with me that he would get the food by taking over the places. That's worked out well so far. He uses the females and the younglings that are too weak for the mines. We get the clothes from a factory another mech took over, makes the clothes and other things we need."

"Drones would be better," the observer said, as they headed for the comfortable building the mining overseers made to relax in. "These humans take a lot of work just to keep alive, and you have to train them."

"Where's the metal for drones to come from? Not this mudball of a planet, that's for sure. They're looking at the asteroids, but we don't even have enough metal for repairs, much less drones. So we'll use the humans for now. It's better than doing the work ourselves."

"Hmm," the observer mused. "How long can they work in a day?" The conversation went on as the mech walked into the comfortable recreation hall.

Back in the mine, Wit kept working. He mused, wondering if the light he saw in the shaft was what he thought it was. He could see that the shaft had ore in the samples he found, and if Bonecrusher did what he usually did, he would reinforce the shaft and sent Wit and some new workers in.

For a long time after he woke chained to a spot on the floor of the mine, he wondered if he was dead and in Hell, because the mines were that to any human there. The whips were used to discourage talking, to speed production, or just to relieve the bad mood of the overseers. Sam had almost no feeling left in the skin of his back and shoulders because almost all the skin was replaced with scar tissue. The blow that sent him to his knees throbbed dully, where it bruised the muscle under the scars.

He did not know how or why he was still alive, when everyone who was here before him had died. There was never enough food, and never enough rest. Open wounds of every kind infected easily. Stone dust was everywhere. Bones broke when rocks fell the wrong way. Wit suffered a broken toe and a broken nose, but both healed eventually.

Everyone worked one shift in the shafts, one shift shoveling and carrying the ore to the washing bins, and one shift sorting what they had mined. Food was provided in the morning when they woke, and in the evening when they finished sorting the ore. Bonecrusher found out how much food and rest the slaves needed to keep going, and gave only that much. He and the other overseers complained constantly over how much work it was to keep the slaves compared to drones.

Wit's group was used to test how long slaves could work without sleep; they were forced to keep going until a whip could no longer rouse them. Two died before the test ended. Bonecrusher concluded that he lost more slaves that he could replace easily working them that way, and went back to the shifts.

Wit went through the days in a dull haze, feeling as little as possible and wondering when he would die. He lost hope long ago. The slaves never left the mines. The only thing that roused him from his stupor was the sound of an overseer's voice or the whip.

Now, Wit had a small amount of hope. He knew from experience that the first shafts were poorly reinforced until the mechs knew there was enough ore to make the shaft worth enlarging. He saw a slave hit one of the supports and bring it down on himself.

He heard the footsteps that announced an overseer walking through the shafts. He did not stop working until he heard the roar from the opening, "Shift change! Get the shovels moving, you lazy organics." The day wore on, until his shift got food and were chained to the floor to sleep. He dreamed of blue skies and green leaves that night.

The next day Bonecrusher appeared as their shift at the shaft was starting. "Get over here, long-timer. You, and you, and you, come on." The whip cracked as Bonecrusher made his choices. Obediently, the four slaves came over with their tools. "Go in there and bring out ten buckets of ore. Be quick about it." Bonecrusher turned his attention elsewhere.

When he returned to the main shaft, he looked for the opening, and saw nothing. Getting closer, he saw rocks where he should see buckets, and hurried, getting the whip out. He would drag those lazy humans out and teach them a lesson in obeying him. He was almost on the shaft when he saw pieces of the supports in with the rocks. He kicked the pile of rocks. They did not move. He dug at the rocks for a time, and got nowhere. He listened, and heard no signs of life.

"Well, long-timer, guess your time was up," he said. For a time he considered digging out the shaft to get the tools, but considering to the amount of work it would take, he decided against it.

Wit lead all of them in heading for the trees. They did not stop until they were deep in the woods. Heavily wooded areas did not stop the mechs, but it did slow them down. They found a stream and drank. They found a peach tree and ate the barely ripened fruit. Then Wit sat down, spread his legs as far as he could, and used his pick on the chains. "Wait," one of the others said softly. He took the pick and they adjusted Wit's stance until there was plenty of room for the pick. After several blows, the chains on both shackles were off.

Wit picked up the chain and tucked it into his belt. He reached down, scrapped leaves from the ground, and wrote, "_Can you read_?"

"Yeah," the pick wielder said. "I'm Jack." Jack had blue eyes and tan skin even after five months in the mine. "We were with the old military school until the mechs took us."

"_I'm Witwicky. I know how to live off the land, just watch me. Who's next_?"

He hefted his pick. Surviving in the mines for a year gave him thin strong muscles that rippled as he took the chains off Jack's shackles. Leon, Don, and Eric introduced themselves as he got their chains off. Done, he wrote, "_Keep the chains. _" He wanted nothing left behind that would show where they went. He led them off again. They would find what was left of the Resistance, and then he would come back. Hate boiled in him, hot and fierce. He would shut down that mine if he had to die again and again to do it.

Bonecrusher cursed. In the last solar cycle or so, the mine produced more problems than ore. He stalked to the recreation building, seeing the mass of white that sat on the mountain and thinking nothing of it. The snows were heavy this year, but that meant nothing to the mechs.

First, he lost his easy source of slaves. Some time ago, they found the place abandoned and the buildings destroyed. Nothing living remained. The gardens and pens that kept animals were destroyed with the buildings. He and some of his mechs searched the area for well over a week in every direction. The only sign of humanity they found were the few farms that Breakdown supervised.

Then a group of males were foolish enough to raid one of the farms that serviced the mine. "They hurt my females!" Breakdown screamed. "They couldn't work for days and stole everything they could carry! I'll find them and teach them to hurt what's mine!" A week later he dragged fourteen males to the mines. He had killed several. "They aren't from the Resistance," he said with contempt. "Just fools, stealing from other human's farms. Use them up. It'll be the only use anyone will ever get out of them."

But right when the harvest came in, the women and children in the farms disappeared and the harvest disappeared with them, along with all the animals and the produce from the family gardens. The buildings were burned to the ground. There was a hunt, but Breakdown found nothing, despite dedicated hunting for weeks. They had to find food elsewhere for the mining slaves. Breakdown did find more settlements to take over, getting a few more male slaves and a food supply for them, but those farms were much further away and he started to have more problems keeping the female slaves.

Small annoyances began to mount. Materials in storage were found damaged or filthy, having to be cleaned or retooled to use. Animals got into places they never managed before, and they could do unexpected damage, especially in the wiring. Production dropped, and Bonecrusher endured ranting from above and passed it down to his underlings.

Wit appeared with another load, and found the Resistance leader waiting for him, with a trail broken in the snow and several other men to unload the jeep. Joshua Burns just waited. The mute sighed and left them to it as he followed the leader into an opening into the underground base. Burns, to give him credit, had hot water, clean clothes, and a hot meal waiting. When Wit emerged from the room, he still looked tired, but restored. The lantern, filled with oil, burned brightly in the small room the leader used as an office. He found Joshua by the table that was smooth and white, with a couple of charcoal sticks.

"Did you bring or stash something besides explosives and weapons?" he asked. Wit nodded, drew the charcoal to him and began to write. Joshua read and nodded. There were tools, glass panes, seeds, and food. He was gone for months this time. How he managed not to be found with that old jeep Joshua would never know, nor could he figure out how Wit kept it going, but he did not question.

Joshua did not try to control Wit; he did try to keep him in camp when he could. Wit just knew things that almost no one else remembered anymore. He knew an incredible amount about what could be eaten that grew wild. He took the young men and women with him to forage and set traps. He brought materials that they could use to fashion into hunting tools.

Joshua was not sure if there were any other Resistance groups now. The Decepticons hunted any Resistance group ruthlessly, executing them publicly in vicious ways. Humans were beginning to be taken for slaves more and more. Joshua was not sure how much longer his group would have lasted if Wit hadn't found the cavern system. Inside the caverns, there was an underground stream. With work, the caverns were livable. As a matter of fact, they were better than the buildings in the winter, as they stayed the same temperature all year. Underground, they were hard for the monster mechs to find.

Regardless, he took what Wit brought them, whether it was four families whose farms were taken over by the mechs, with their harvest, or the remnants of an old military school, with all the produce from their gardens. Housing the animals was a problem at times, but they did what they could. Game was plentiful, but eggs and milk were hard to come by. The farmers found ways to grow food that did not reveal them to the monsters, and that made their lives easier.

Wit had one goal that made Joshua nervous. He wanted to shut down the mines and he wanted to kill the manager. The other young men who came out of the mine with him described the conditions there. The scars backed them up. They said that Wit lost his voice there. Joshua did not want his people exposed because of Wit's obsession.

What Wit wrote made Joshua sit up. "You're serious?" he said, stunned. "In the middle of winter-well, this wouldn't work any other way, would it?" he murmured. He looked over the extensive plans that Wit drew and the notes he made. "It's an incredible risk, "he said. Wit nodded. "Something tells me you're going to do it anyway."

Wit wrote, "_I'll only take willing fighters who swear to the pact, and we'll have our safety. Besides, this is the focus for the mechs in this area. If we can close down the mine and make it look like a natural disaster, then most of them will leave the area_."

"All right. Pick your team and get started."

Two weeks later the team set out. It consisted of the four who escaped the mines, and two other teams. All of them carried safety packets of poison. They did not take the jeep; Wit went ahead and cached what they would need near the cliffs. They knew they could die, but if they could do this, the threat in the area would drop incredibly. In the end, they trusted Wit to know what he was doing.

He scattered them across the top of the mountains where snow built up over the drop that held the mine. Wit and the others were going to get the slaves out if they could, and set up the explosives in the mine itself. If they did not hear from Wit and the others in three days, they were to set the charges and go home.

Wit left the team waiting while he set up a distraction. When he returned, he led them to the cave they used to flee the mines. As they expected, the shaft was still filled with rock. Wit waited, and they could hear the noise from the cave. Seizing the moment, they pulled the shafts and made room at the top to look out. There was no one there. The shaft had been emptied. Encouraged, they cleared the opening and slipped out. They found slaves in the next shaft without an overseer, and sent them to the empty shaft. They found the chained sleeping slaves, and brought them out. A few whisper confirmed they had all of the slaves. Wit sent the others out, set the explosives, and blew the opening to the played out shaft.

Then he led the slaves and his team to a safe area and got them going before he went back. He had a mine manager to kill. He found the bazooka he left here a while back and loaded it. There were only three rounds.

Bonecrusher was in the hall. He could not understand where the fire in the storage area came from, but they barely managed to stop it before it spread to the combustible materials they used to open new shafts. He and the other overseers were here taking a break before heading back into the mine, but they could not leave the slaves for long and expect production. The lazy organics would slow down the moment they had a chance. He yelled for all of the mechs to get back to work.

The first shot took down the mech ahead of him. While they milled around, trying to see where the shot came from, a second shot slammed into Bonecrusher's shoulder. The third went into the storage area. None of them saw the human running over the high ground above the mine. They were distracted by the sounds they could not understand. There were two more explosions close by. When the overseers went to investigate, they found that the mine openings were clown closed, not completely, but enough that they could not get through until the openings were dug out. As they began the work, they heard a rumbling sound above them.

The men who set the explosives on the top of the snow buldup watched in awe as the devastation began, starting with snow. It rolled down, starting slowly, but building, and as it progressed, the snow tore soil and rocks from the mountainside as well. By the time it ended, the valley was obliterated. They went to the meeting point, and found the mine team and the rescued slaves huddled about a fire. They waited as long as they dared, before heading back with heavy hearts, sure they had lost Wit.

Three weeks later, Wit stumbled into the camp, exhausted and half-frozen, but triumphant. He made it to the cave before the avalanche hit. Most of the mine shafts survived. The supplies for the slaves were in the mine proper and he had lived off the food there.

trtr

"So you destroyed the mine you worked in, " the captain said, "but you didn't destroy Bonecrusher."

"No," Sam said regretfully. "It took them a year to even find the buried ones in the wreckage, and longer to get them out. After they did, we used the mine for storage and as an emergency base. That bought us time, but in the end," he shrugged and looked at the screen.

"I know why the All-Spark chose you," the captain said, as Scrapper came in to bring Sam a meal and get him out of the chains for a time. Sam jerked his head around, startled. "You're strong," he said simply. "Lord Megatron was right to exile you from your kind and keep you penned under his eye. I can even see now why he became fond of you. Even for an organic, you are strong."


	9. Life without DecepticonsNot

Sorry it took so long to update but I finally finished the original story I was working on. I finally found an idea for the last life; enjoy. Reviews are appreciated.

I do not own Transformers; I only play with the characters and wish I did.

Life without Decepticons-Not.

It was a bittersweet moment when Sam saw Earth from space for the first time. This blue and white pebble hanging in space was home. It was the birthplace of his race. It was also, at this time, the prison of most of his species and he was going there to die.

Even while he was with the Autobots, he knew that someday he would go to the shard and it would pull the power from him. In the best case, he would simply start to age the way humans normally did. However, that chance was small. He expected to die from losing the power. His nightmare was to be drawn into the shard with his awareness intact.

Being the middle of the day, there was no one in the rec room until a 'con on the night shift came in for some energon. "Hey, what'cha looking at?" Sam raised his head from his crossed arms. He was sitting propped up against the cage. The padded chains chimed softly as he stood to speak to the deep blue 'con. The chains looped into one around his waist. There was another chain hooked from his waist to the cage, and another set on his ankles that looped to his waist. Razorclaw was taking no chances.

"Earth," Sam said. Home, he thought sadly, but a home infested with Decepticons. The 'con sat where he could see the screen and talk to Sam while he drank his energon. Sam slid back down .

"Yeah, we'll be there soon. Be a relief to get you back to the master. Why would the All-Spark go into a human, anyway? Why not one of us?"

"Optimus tried that," Sam reminded him. He closed his eyes. Optimus died to keep the All-Spark from Megatron, because Sam failed. He remembered how everyone told him that it was not his fault, that he was only expected to hand the Cube off to the helicopter to take to safety. No one expected him to manage the impossible. After a time, he finally believed, but he would not leave Earth as long as there was anything he could do to stop the Decepticons. "I was in his hand when he put the Cube in his spark, or so I'm told by Lord Megatron. I was dying, so I don't remember." He went back to contemplating his home planet while the 'con frowned, thinking.

"So the All-Spark chose you because you were in Optimus Prime's hand when he put the Cube in his spark," the 'con said. Sam nodded. "What a waste, the honor of holding the All-Spark on a human."

"Honor," Sam said, and laughed. It was a bitter sound. "What honor?" He looked at Earth again. "When I was young, there were seven billion people on Earth. There were more people in some cities than there are on Earth now. We were just beginning to reach out for space. We had thousands of languages, thousands of independent nations. "He raised haunted eyes to the startled 'con. " I've lived to see most of my race die. Most of them died in the first hundred years. I've lived to see what survived enslaved. I've been a slave in five lifetimes." He shook his head. "I can't even find peace by dying. Honor? For me it's been a curse."

The Decepticon looked hard at him for a moment before leaving. Sam barely noticed he had gone, immersed in self-pity. He closed his eyes and struggled with his bitterness. Attitude would get him nowhere. He tried the calming exercises Mulah taught him, but they were not working. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up. Razorclaw was holding out a tranquillizer with one of the sweet drinks Sam liked. Sam accepted both. The breeder talked to him for a time, idly, waiting for Sam to finish the drink and for the drug to take hold. "How many times have you died, Sam? "

"Eight times," he answered softly. Strangely enough, it helped to talk about it. They talked for a time about the process, and Razorclaw left puzzled. Sam gazed out at the stars and thought about Mulah's belief that the Decepticons' attitude toward the slaves was changing.

That evening, when all of the supervisors were in the rec room, Razorclaw brought the matter up again. "You said earlier you died eight times," he said. Sam was sitting with Watts and nodded. "I've counted. The first time was in Optimus' hand, the second was with Hook, the third was Bonecrusher."

"The fourth was you," Shrapnel said, and Razorclaw gave him a dirty look.

"I did not kill him. He died of someone else's stupidity," Razorclaw said tartly. "Back to what I was saying, the fifth was Watts, the sixth was Scrapper, and the seventh Decibel. That means we're missing a life somewhere in there. Did you miscount?"

Sam shook his head. "I had one lifetime where I was caught but never processed. It was between Scrapper and Decibel."

Trtr

He arrived in the fall. When he woke, he jerked up in panic, looking for a Decepticon. When none appeared, he wondered if he had managed to get to heaven, because of the mists. When he got up and explored, he discovered he was in a valley of hot springs.

The hot springs and the surrounding small mountains were about as perfect a hiding place for a hiding human that existed. There was a thriving town near the springs at one time. The buildings were collapsed, but Sam scavenged glass and metal which were useful in making hunting tools. Game and fish were plentiful, as were edible fruits and vegetables. He had clothes, but looking around him, he knew he was going to need to find something to stay warm in soon.

When he found the dying mountain lion, thought, he knew his hiding place was not as perfect as he thought. One of its legs was shot off. There was only one way the animal got a wound like that. The puma managed to crawl deep into the woods and evade his attackers. After the mercy kill, Sam got the fur, the other bits and pieces he needed, and left the body for the scavengers.

When he got back to the cave he was using as home, he made plans. It was fall when he arrived at the springs. While he could hunt and fish during the winter, he needed to be ready for days when going out would be dangerous. All of that involved getting out in the woods. He grimaced. Maybe he was being paranoid. The puma could have just gotten in the way of the wrong Decepticon.

He saw no other signs of the metal beings for some time. His original clothes were long gone by that time, which meant that the skins he made intoclothes hid him better. As he made his preparations for winter, he reflected that he worked harder surviving free than he did when with Scrapper, Watts, or on the farms. There were plenty of dangers. He remembered being treed by and having to wait out that pack of wolves, before a deer stumbled too close and they went after the bigger animal instead. There were times before he learned the area and managed a stockpile of dried food that he went hungry. Getting a fire going was a hard job, though once he had the fire started he could keep it going for long periods of time. At the same time, given a choice between being dinner for a wolf pack and being at the mercy of a cruel Decepticon master, he would take the wolves.

At the same time, the food was much, much better, if much harder to get. After all his lifetimes, he knew almost every edible food that existed in the old United States. Pecan, pear, and apple trees were not far from his cave, and there were vegetables growing wild. By the day he woke and found snow on the ground, he had a cushion of food stored.

He set his traps through the winter, knowing that he was better off with what fresh food he could get. While checking the trap line, he heard the familiar sound of heavy footsteps, and got under a holly tree nearby whose branches hung almost to the ground. A group of three Decepticons walked by. They were not in any hurry, or paying attention, so they walked past him without any idea he existed. He had seen –and been caught by- enough patrols to know one when he saw one, and this was not a patrol. Sam was sure his rear was frostbitten before he dared to get up and move again. He ran his trap line, gathering the rabbit and two squirrels he had caught in them, gathered the traps, and headed for home, listening with all his might for a shout behind him. He reset the traps deeper in the woods. The trees and underbrush were thick enough that a larger Decepticon would have a difficult time getting in. He reflected wryly on what Scrapper would say about the areas he chose to put his traps in, and smiled to himself.

He did not see Decepticons again until spring. After six months or so, he figured out their normal paths and stayed away. That worked until a pleasure party came to the woods to hunt. He was setting his fish net when he heard the crashing. There were plenty of bushes around the creek he was fishing in; he worked his way into one and clutched his makeshift but effective glass knife. He need not have worried. A herd of deer raced by, panicked, and right behind them were the hunters.

He heard a shot. After a time, they came crashing back, clicking to each other in their own language. When he could no longer hear them, he followed the obvious trail they left, and found the deer they killed. Well, at least he would not have to hunt for a time. He skinned the deer, took what he needed, and headed for home, using the fishing net to carry the meat.

While drying the meat, he made a decision. Not long after, he took his new bow and arrows, his knife, and a supply of the dried meat with him on an exploration trip. After a week, he found another cave that met his requirements, deeper in the mountains where few of the Decepticons could go. He went back and fetched what he could not easily replace. From then on, he spent the year until winter at the mountain cave, and the deep winter in the hot springs.

Patrols went through almost every square mile of Earth at least once a year, looking for anything unusual that might need to be reported, gathering information that was not urgent, and dealing with minor problems. The first patrol missed him entirely. He heard them talking when he was fetching water. He retreated to his cave until they passed by. The second patrol came when he was drying meat. Again he retreated to his cave. They scouted around for the source of the odd smell, but were not able to find smoke, and when they came across a lightning blasted tree, went on without thinking more about the matter.

He was checking his trap line when he came close to encountering another Decepticon, but this time it was only one. He headed for the hot springs. He could hear the 'con tracking him, but he made it into his winter cave. The con walked around the cave, clicking to himself, but eventually went away. Sam waited some time before hunger drove him out. On his way back to his summer cave, he found two of his traps mangled from being stepped on, and one missing, making him curse.

He began another hunt for a new place, further into the mountains. He came across another devastated settlement and took the time to scavenge more glass and metal he could shape into fishhooks and arrowheads. He found some gardens gone wild long ago, and picked up vegetables he could not get in the woods. He found a plum tree and munched several while he gathered. After about two weeks, he did not find another possibility and headed back to the summer cave with his loot. He spent some time making new hunting tools, and drying the fruit. He had some luck with his hunting, bringing down a deer with a lucky shot of a glass-tipped arrow. He hauled the deer back, gloating over the luck. He needed the hide badly, and the meat would make up for losing the trap lines. He started the drying immediately.

He was fishing when the next group of Decepticons appeared. This time there were three of them, and they were hunting for something. He slipped into the stream and slid under some overhanging brush. He was certain he was wrinkled from head to toe before they went after something. As he slid out of the water, shivering, he heard a shot. Carefully, he made to back to his cave and huddled over the smokeless fire he kept going constantly in the cave, while working his wet leather clothes to keep them from going stiff as they dried. He heard the footsteps and the clicking again. Eventually the hunters went away.

He found the wolf they shot and skinned it for the fur. He began making trips to the winter cave to take supplies, hunting on the way back. He had a good stockpile of supplies when he made his final move. He settled into the winter cave with his stores just in time for the first ice storm, follow shortly by a snowfall. The weather kept him stuck in the cave for quite some time. He celebrated the first clear day without snow on the ground with a long walk in the woods, hunting.

Dried meat got old; he headed out to see if he could find something fresh. He had his bow. His traps had nothing. He headed for home disappointed, when he came across a small deer, just up from a fawn, and somehow separated from a herd. It was small enough that he could get it home, so he risked a shot. Luck was with him, and it went down. He gave himself a mental pat on the back as he headed for it, but at that moment he heard heavy footsteps, quickening, and clicking. Without hesitation, he headed for home. He risked one glance back. They were huddled over his kill, and looking at the arrow. He did not look back again. There was no question about what they were going to hunt now.

Him.

He made it to the cave, hearing them as he raced. He headed for the back, for the glowing embers and the warmth of the waters. He gulped some of the water, needing the water and the warmth. He waited again for the hunters to get bored and go away.

Instead, a huge hand appeared in the cave. The opening was too small for them to come in and shaped so that they could not look in, but the arm reached all the way to the back. Sam scrambled for one of the hunting weapons. They would not work on the Decepticon, but on him they would work just fine. He dodged the groping hand, but it brushed him. He jumped out of the way, but the next grab had him. He struggled fiercely as he was drawn out of his once safe cave into the cold of the air and the colder gaze of red optics. The red and black Decepticon held him up, clicking to two others behind him.

Sam struggled. It shook him until he quieted. "Don't give me any trouble," the 'con said. He handed Sam over to one of the other 'cons. Sam did his best to jump as the transfer took place, but the second 'con held him in both hands and squeezed until he could not breathe when he tried to struggle. Released, he was still, gulping air that puffed white into the cold air. The Decepticon who captured him reached back into the cave, bring out Sam's food and possessions. "I don't know what this is, but it's something he made," he mused, looking at Sam's pouches of food. He poked at the knife and arrows. "We found one of these in the animal. It's a primitive weapon. This is no slave."

At the nearest farm the manager undressed and examined Sam. "He's a strong healthy male, right at the age we normally breed them and send them to the mines. You aren't going to get much information from him, because he's got damage to his vocalizer. If it wasn't for this stuff," he indicated Sam's possessions, "I'd say he was dumped because of the flaw and lucky to survive." He looked over the knife, the bow and arrow, and the food. "We need to get him into some decent clothes and a collar," he added, reaching for the clothes. "These stink."

"No," his captor said firmly. "We've already contacted headquarters. They want him brought in as he is, with everything we found." He looked at Sam, who got dressed and reached for some of his food. They watched him as he chewed on the dried fruit and jerky.

"I've never seen a slave that could find his own food." The manager gave Sam water.

"This isn't a slave," the captor said grimly. "This is a real feral human. Are there more of you?" he asked Sam, who shook his head. "There's a convoy taking slaves to the mines tomorrow. They need some help; I'll take him with me on that trip and head for headquarters after that."

It was raining when they headed out. Sam saw lighting flashing in the downpour as the trucks moved out. There were slaves heading for the mines in the back of the patrol's alt form. Sam almost wished he was one of them. The one nightmare worse than being in the mines was being found out by the higher administration. He shivered in the cab of the alt form, praying for a miracle.

His miracle came with a sound like a jet plane. It looked like a wedge of clouds boiling on the ground as it moved toward the convoy. The slaves in the back screamed from the noise. Sam knew it was a wedge tornado, the most powerful kind, but the Decepticons had no idea of the power of the force of nature approaching them until it was far too late.

trtr

"I wondered how you managed on your own," Watts said thoughtfully. "How did you learn how to survive like that?"

"When I was in the Resistance, we learned to live off the land," Sam said.

"I heard about the loss of that convoy," Decibel said. "No one survived. The patrol involved couldn't be revived by the shard."

"Can I ask an odd question?" Sam asked, some time later. The others were dispersed. Decibel was on the monitoring station. Sam could sit with him there.

"You can ask," Decibel said. "No promises on an answer."

"Were any of you revived by the All-Spark shard?"

"All of us, I think," Decibel admitted, after a moment, and changed the subject.

When Sam went into his cage later that evening, he considered that idea. With few exceptions, the Decepticons revived by the shard hated less and were less cruel. Frenzy was sane, though being back with Soundwave might have had something to do with that. He knew Razorclaw, Shrapnel, and Scapper used to despise humans. He remembered again what Mulah said about the Decepticons seeing the slaves as assets instead of threats.

The All-Spark shard did not have the power to revive on its own; it had to pull on the power from Sam to work, just as the Matrix of Leadership pulled from him to complete and strengthen Rodimus into a full Prime. Mulah told Sam that the All-Spark was finding awareness through him. It seemed that the All-Spark was changing the ones it revived. It gave him some hope.


	10. Return

For those of you who have read Prometheus, please let me know if you would like an epilogue. Otherwise, I will complete the story, and thanks to those who read and especially those who review.

I do not own Transformers except in my daydreams.

Return

Sam could see the excitement growing in the crew as they approached Earth. It was no longer a pebble in the screen, but dominated it. Sam spent hours looking at his home planet, preparing himself to go back to Megatron. The Decepticon leader was contacting the ship much more frequently. Except for his ribs, which would take a few more weeks to heal, Sam's body was healed and the bruises were gone. Instead, he was having a lot of problems with sore throats, and his voice prosthesis felt odd. Between the sore throats and his imminent return to Earth and a collar, he spoke very little anymore.

The supervisors tried to cheer him up. When they brought him meals, they often took him to their work stations if they could, and in the rec room they started telling stories of their time in space before they arrived on Earth or stories of Cybertron when they were young. Sam listened attentively, showing enjoyment in smiles and nods. He knew that part of their concern was getting him to Megatron in the best possible shape, but he was grateful just the same. He often requested that the meals be soft or asked them to heat water so he could dissolve the ration in it.

When Razorclaw questioned him on his brooding, he told the breeder about the sore throat. Razorclaw examined him and reported the problem to Megatron, who told him to let the matter wait until they arrived.

On the last contact, Megatron come on the screen in the rec room as Sam was looking out. He stood, taking the submission pose as soon as he saw who was on the screen. The chains clinked softly "So Razorclaw is following my commands," the Decepticon leader said with approval. "You are remembering your place again. Soon you will be home where you belong. What am I, Sam?"

"Megatron, leader of the Decepticons and Lord Protector of the All-Spark," Sam said steadily. He knew what Megatron was angling for, and he could not bring himself to say it. He kept his head down.

"Look at me," Megatron demanded. Sam raised his head and met the red optics focused on him. "At this time, I consider you punished for your flight from me. But when you return, you will call me master."

"Yes, my lord," Sam said, and looked down. He heard a 'con come up behind him.

"Razorclaw, I am pleased." Megatron gave specific instructions for Sam's preparation for the landing the next day. "See to it. Once he is out of the cage, your responsibility ends."

"Yes, my lord." The screen blanked. Razorclaw took Sam's chains off and took him to Watts. When Sam returned to the cage, it was reworked so that it opened from the side. Sam returned to the cage only to void. All of the supervisors kept him with them for their shift. The long effort to return the holder of the All-Spark to Megatron was almost over, and they were full of mixed feelings.

Sam was surprised when Watts took him to the monitoring station. "I'm doing a routine reset of some of the controls," he said casually, as he touched a few controls. They were the ones monitoring the monitor station. "Sam, do you believe that Megatron treated you well because you became his pet or because of the All-Spark in you?" he asked carefully.

Sam said quietly, "Ironhide told me that Megatron swore an oath to protect the All-Spark when he became Lord Protector."

"Yes," Watts said slowly. "He did. Every Cybertronian saw that in one way or another, either through a history lesson or when it happened. So you think he took you under his protection because of the oath he took?"

"He had a lot of reasons," Sam said, and shrugged. "I don't know."

"If he was the All-Spark's sworn protector, why didn't he recognize you as the All-Spark?" Watts asked, troubled.

"Megatron's not a Prime," Sam said simply. "Rodimus is. I knew the moment I saw him that he was the Prime, and he knew I carried the All-Spark." If the Decepticons don't know about the Matrix, he thought, I'm not going to be the one to tell them unless Megatron forces it out of me.

Watts was silent for a time, as the reset ended. When he spoke again, he talked about what Mars was like. Over the rest of the evening, as he went from supervisor to supervisor, Sam had the same conversation. All of the supervisors made sure they in a position to speak without being overheard for a few minutes only.

As they went into orbit, Razorclaw took him to the storage room and bathed him in warm water, before dressing him in his best set of clothes and a fresh set of chains. As the others did, he asked about the All-Spark, and considered what Sam said. "Megatron wants you to call him master," he warned. Sam nodded. He would call Megatron 'master' if he could, but he tried on the ship, and the word would not come out. Razorclaw put him in his cage and contacted the captain.

Sitting in the cage, waiting for the ship to dock and for the others to disembark, Sam stayed calm by replaying memories.

He thought of Shrapnel, telling Mute to wash daily, ambling with drunken dignity with him around the cleaned buildings, and wordlessly agreeing not to tell anyone that Sam could program a datapad and read Cybertronian.

He thought of Razorclaw offering comfort to Mute after the fight protecting Red, and telling him that he was special.

He thought of Watts, praising Quiet for a good job and telling him he could go gather wild food and giving tastes of honey for rewards to the young slaves he was training.

He thought of Scrapper, chewing him out when he jumped in the water to rescue another slave but letting him swim afterwards, quietly making sure that Noisy was protected until he could look after himself, and saving him from CyKill's advances.

He thought of Decibel, who watched a spate of falling stars with White, who listened to his suggestions for safety improvements, and who patiently explained that breeding was a duty, but also said he thought more children who would be like Mute would be a good thing.

"It's time, Sam," Razorclaw said. He stood and got a grip on the bars as Razorclaw and Dead End picked up the cage and took it to the ground. The side fell down, and Sam walked out into intense silence.

He stopped in front of Megatron, who knelt and put the ornate gold and onyx collar around his neck. "You are mine and you will call me master," the Decepticon leader said, and shocked him with the collar.

Sam felt the initial shock, which was uncomfortable, but familiar and over quickly. Then he felt another shock, and another. Everything went white.

When he came to himself, his throat was agony. Razorclaw and Hook were bending over him. Razorclaw gave him a shot, and the world faded again. When he woke again, he was in his enclosure. His throat still hurt, but it was bearable. He knew that the voice prosthesis was gone. Megatron had destroyed the means for Sam to call him master.

The All-Spark must have a sense of humor, he decided, and went to rinse his mouth of the taste of blood.


	11. Epilogue: Completion

I do not own Transformers. Sigh.

This is it, folks, hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are always appreciated.

Epilogue: Completion.

From the day that Sam arrived at Megatron's quarters, he felt the tug. In all the years he was with the Decepticon leader, he never guessed what was pulling at him, though he did try to get out of his cage and find out when Megatron was not in the room. He never managed to get past the lock; Hook the perfectionist build the cage so that a human could not get out, and the cage served its purpose very well.

Now he knew that the tug was the All-Spark pieces calling to each other. Megatron put him down in the hall, in front of the door. The tug was overwhelmingly strong; he just let it pull him as the door opened.

Then he was standing in grayness, facing a white glow. Am I dead at last, and seeing a deity? he wondered. He was completely relaxed. There was no pain, no fear, no stress in this grey area. Strangely enough, the glow answered him.

_No. I was part of you, for a time. I am the reason you return, the reason your hair is white, and the reason you lost your voice. I needed you, you see. I needed a place to recover, as a human, you could not use my power except through the artifacts made for that purpose and through the shard of myself. Your body reflected me; changing but never aging, missing a part of itself, and never gone for good. As I became stronger, I began to be aware of you and what happened to you. I stopped renewing those who would hurt us, and enabling those who would protect us. _

Sam was surprised that his speculation was correct. He wondered if the All-Spark was always this aware.

_No. I do not normally remain this attached to a physical plane of existence. But humans live short, intense lives at the best of times, and as your lives became shorter and harder, I became more aware of what was happening. _The voice grew cold and hard. _The Lord Protector should have heard me. He should have known what you held when he saw you. He is so changed from what a Lord Protector should be that he could not hear me. He could sense my power vaguely. That is why he claimed you, though in time he became fond of you for yourself. Only his driving need for power brought him to give you up. _

Sam felt a little better.

_But as soon as he knew that you held the All-Spark, he should have given you the respect you deserved, as Rodimus Prime did. Instead, he could only think of how to make a new Cube to use as a weapon. _The voice The voice took on rage. _I give life. I give judgment when needed. I am not a weapon of war, especially against the Prime who knows me and gave you the honor we were due, or the helpless slaves on this planet of your birth. _

Relief swept through Sam in waves. He could die in peace, knowing the Alliance would not be facing a All-Spark powered weapon. What would happen now, he wondered.

_I can give you choices. One is to go on, if you choose. You have earned a rest. But for a time, I can help you and the Prime rectify the great harm my so-called protector and his minions have done your race. I can give you a last human life, lived in relative peace while you and the others begin the work of setting up a stable human government and lead the Earth humans out of slavery into being an independent race again. You will be able to talk, to sire children and raise them, and see the human home world join the Alliance. _

Sam had to wonder what the catch was, and just how he was going to deal with the Decepticons to have that peace the All-Spark was offering.

_Merge with me._ _Through you, I can act. I can stop them, reprogram them, intimidate them. I am that from which they came, and I can call them to me or exile them to the Pits if I chose. In return, I want your living memories as part of me when you are ready. Believe me, once I am the Cube again, you will find peace_.

Sam accepted the merge. The light approached, and then enveloped him. Then he was aware of the world again. He looked up at Megatron and said, "I am complete." He could hear his voice echoing in the chamber. Then he smiled, taking in Megatron and the other Decepticons' expressions as they realized that instead of the power in Sam going into the shard, the power of the shard came into Sam.

Power rolled out of the merge, into each Decepticon on Earth. If they were willing to kill the slaves under their care, they went into deep stasis. If they were not, the All-Spark spoke to them, telling them to stop fighting. Then the merge started to leave the room and realized they would have to climb over the Decepticons that fell like bowling pins when they went into stasis. They cursed, grumbling over the indignity.

Trtrtr

The merge took Megatron's spark in private, to be reborn at a later time. What was left after spare parts were taken became part of the Cube when the merge remade it and became part of it.

Bonecrusher was the first to be tried for crimes against humanity. Sam did not participate in the trial. When the vicious mining leader was condemned, the merge stepped up to him and took his spark publicly before the chassis left was taken away to be used for spare parts. What was not used for spare parts was smelted down.

Dead End was tried and exiled from Alliance space. He tried to return and found he was reprogrammed to never return to Alliance space unless willing to accept Alliance law. Vorns later he was destroyed when the pirate ship he was working on encountered a trading ship with better weapons.

The captain and crew of the ship Sam returned to Earth on chose to stay in Alliance space but to leave Earth. They became completely neutral and acted as a trading ship between the more remote allies.

When the massive reorganization began, Razorclaw worked with Miranda Witwicky in getting medical care organized for the pregnant women on the breeding farms. She reamed him out about thirty times in the first year, but recommended him for the head of the Population and Disease Control department before she left, acknowledging that he was a good administrator and understood the issues well enough to be fair and impartial. He accepted.

Watts and Scrapper worked with Sam and the volunteers from the Alliance on planning and building towns and homes as the transition from slave dormitories to family homes began. Watts worked well with the young men and women trained in administration and other higher level jobs. Scrapper led crews of freed men in the same job as he had before, while training the Decepticons turned Neutral who wished to stay on Earth in how to lead crews without the crutch of the whip.

Decibel worked with the Alliance to find ways to make the factories safer. As time went on and the needs changed, the factories became the centers for new towns. Decibel was able to see about half of his deaf workers receive the means to hear again.

Shrapnel's farm became the experimental center for conversion into growing food that was distributed without being made into the ration and the agricultural training center for the group families who were taking over the farms. He worked well with Hound and Beachcomber in reintroducing foods not grown on Earth in the time of the Decepticon takeover.

They stayed until there were no living humans who were born into slavery and the new human governments were stable and thriving. Then they returned to Cybertron with Rodimus Prime as members of the All-Spark's private guard.


End file.
